Outtakes
by 20thcenturygirl
Summary: This is a story about three characters: Blair Waldorf, Dan Humphrey & The Silver Screen.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary**__: This is a story about three characters: Blair Waldorf, Dan Humphrey & The Silver Screen._

_**Warning**: Some of this is kind of bleak_

_**A/N**__: So I could have set this story after Season 6. But then I thought about it and, due to what those in legal circles call 'major-ass sucking', I concluded S6 can only be ignored. So I'm going to say this begins some years after Season 5. I don't think something as stupid as 5x24 happened, but the important thing is that Dan & Blair's relationship somehow fell apart, and that they're now each back in their messed-up teenage relationships. Let's see what we can do about that..._

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**Outtakes** - Chapter One

**2013**

Dan doesn't watch movies any more.

Actually, that's not true. Over Christmas he watched dozens. Dozens of cheap, predictable, genuinely terrible holiday movies. One night he'd discovered a cable channel dedicated to them, playing them every day, all month. It was called NonStopYule and it displayed a jolly, gyrating cartoon snowman in the top right hand corner of the screen at all times. Fairly quickly they exhausted their repertoire and started repeating ones he'd already seen. So he watched them again.

Serena - when she'd find him slumped once again in front of the TV, fingers auto-shovelling brazil nuts into his blank face - saw it as getting into the holiday spirit and smiled indulgently. It wasn't that Serena was stupid. It was just that she knew what she wanted: light and hope and goodness. And dammit she was going to get them. And so, she simply wasn't willing to see a dark spiral for what it was.

As for him, watching these movies was guaranteed not to invoke any thoughts. Or any feelings. Or any anything. Because the guy and the girl were going to end up together, like they were supposed to all along. Because there would be bumps along the way, but at the eleventh hour everything would be fixed (more often than not by a meddling geriatric). Because there would be smiling and kissing and snowflakes and all that stuff that is _supposed_ to happen. And there was no point hoping for anything different. Truly it was blissful - not having to think or feel.

In January NonStopYule does in fact stop, and Dan - vaguely bitter that he never got to say goodbye to his buddy the gyrating snowman - switches off the TV. If he could switch himself back on at the same time, he would; but he doesn't know how.

And now, Dan really doesn't watch movies any more.

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**2005**

The first time it happened, they never even knew about it.

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A rainy Sunday, windows rattling timidly against the storm. Despite Dorota's disapproving looks, Blair had made a decision and that decision was that she wasn't going to get out of bed today. She was still under the covers, propped up on both elbows, and meticulously messing with her pillows by pulling out feathers one by one, wherever she felt their sharp points press against her fingertips. It was something she used to do when she was a child and things didn't go her way.

She was still simmering from last night, and in particular the memory of Nate running around laughing his gorgeous, wasted little head off with everyone but her, and in her own goddamn house too. And Serena was just as bad, swanning around like a Barbie Jesus, healing lame peasants with only the sound of her golden laugh. Oh and there was also the fact that Blair had drunk too much, which she never did, because although she liked the feeling of being tipsy and smiley and silly, she hated when it went too far and everything would start to slip.

So yes, her head was heavy and her fingers were angry and she was not getting out of bed.

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Dan was woken by plump raindrops splashing his face. He stumbled out of bed to shut the window, wiping the back of his hand across his damp cheek. He hadn't been able to sleep for hours, partly because he was still worked up from his night out; and he'd opened the window in the hope that the familiar sounds of the delivery trucks rolling by might soothe him to sleep. And he was right.

The other reason he hadn't been able to sleep was the story he'd started writing. A story about the night out. The first page had been so easy, it was like he was possessed. And then... brick wall. He plucked the paper from where it lay beside his pillow, and as he scanned it he felt the same simultaneous excitement and discomfort that he he had felt last night when it had been driving him crazy. Where could this story possibly go? How could it end?

He tilted his head back, trying to clear it. And that was when he noticed how very quiet it was. Too quiet. Where was everyone?

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Having eventually tired of being shooed away, Dorota disregarded Blair's grunts and brought in mystery soup and orange juice, because she knew a hangover when she saw one - and how to cure it. Stepping around the feathers littering the rug, she deposited the tray next to the stiff figure on the bed.

Though her eyes were narrowed and her bottom lip jutting out, Blair's brief nod contained what Dorota recognized as her code for "thank you". As she nodded back "You're welcome" and turned to leave, she heard Blair whine a single sound - "teeveeeee?" - and she didn't have to look back to know how large her doe eyes would now have grown, how daintily her eyelashes would be fluttering, imploring.

This was how it always went. A permanent television set would ruin the perfect ambience of Blair's bedroom, would be an anachronism amongst the pastel hues and vintage curves. But ever since forever, Dorota had grown accustomed to carrying in the small set from the guest room next door, whenever Blair felt this particular inclination.

Once she had fetched the TV and installed it on the bench at the foot of the bed, she placed the remote control carefully into the palm of Blair's hand, as if providing an infant with her bottle of milk. And right on cue, there they were: the quivering eyelashes of gratitude.

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Cautiously, Dan padded towards the kitchen, and it was there that he found the note:

_Hope you had fun, party animal. Gone with Dad and Jenny to buy her birthday present. _  
_Mom xx_

Triumph swelled. He was free. Free to walk around in his boxers. Free to make coffee the way he liked it (the grown-up way, not that feeble swill he usually put up with because _some _members of the family had more delicate tastebuds). Free to bounce onto his parent's bed like old times (the not-so-grown-up way). To switch on the TV and be presented with the opening credits of a bona fide classic movie. And to feel a strange and rare tingling of contentment.

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At the sound of the door finally closing, Blair wriggled deeper under the covers. Hearing the familiar strains of "Over the Rainbow", she rolled her eyes and stabbed at the remote again. But as she flipped on and on, past live audiences booing at adulterers, past 'classic' sitcoms that were about as classic as treading in gum, she recalled that she did admire those ruby slippers. And the stylish hats worn by the guards. And that strange and intense friendship between a girl and a scarecrow. So when she found herself back at that particular channel, and observed the tornado brewing, she figured she could deign to put up with it for a little while. And if within a few minutes her lip was no longer jutting out, it was mostly because it's hard to eat soup while pouting. Mostly.

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He doesn't even like musicals, as a rule. But this one had always been the exception. And on this particular day, angsty teen poet that Dan was, he couldn't help but perceive the film as being all about himself. About how before yesterday his life had been in black and white and then, when he walked into that party, when he saw that girl, everything was suddenly in color. And he knew he wasn't in Kansas any more.

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And self-absorbed princess that she was, Blair too was viewing this as the story of her life. Perfect, shiny, annoying Glinda, floating around in her magic bubble, with lesser beings bowing down to her every word? Obviously Serena. (Munchkins? Minions? Same difference.) If only the house had fallen on _her_.

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And so, alone and in ignorance, Dan and Blair enjoyed their first movie together.

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**2013**

Blair is an extremely busy woman.

Blair doesn't have time to see friends.

Blair doesn't have time to eat lunch.

And Blair doesn't have time to wade through this stupidly long Netflix queue. Really, she can't imagine what she'd been thinking. Constantly adding and adding and adding to the list, not to mention that period of time when she'd allowed a certain someone access to her account. A certain _pretentious_ someone, prone to slipping unspeakably _pretentious_ films into the queue.

She is too busy for this. So tonight, she's going to delete them all. All three-hundred-and- twenty-seven titles. A pedant would see this as warped logic at its very finest, since it'd be less time-consuming to just close the account, or at least stop logging in. But that would be passive and Blair is not passive. She is a woman of action, with a full and - did she mention? - extremely busy life.

1. On The Waterfront DELETE  
2. Bicycle Thieves DELETE  
3. Harold & Maude DELETE  
4. Heaven Can -

BEEP BEEP. Her fingers freeze before reaching to retrieve her phone. It's from Chuck. He'll be there soon, he's just having one more drink with the investors.

76. Leon DELETE  
77. Solaris DELETE

She catches sight of her own reflection and raises her head to examine herself. Her neck is chunky. It's lucky she never has time to eat lunch, or it'd be even chunkier.

145. Rebecca DELETE  
146. Dude, Where's My Car?  
_Oh!_ Mr. Pretentious was in a goofy mood the day he added that one. How very charming. DELETE.  
147. -

BEEP BEEP. He's calling. He's sorry he's late. She pretends that she'd even noticed. She tells him not to worry, she's fine, and she hangs up and goes back to her essential task.

212. The African Queen DELETE  
213. All About Eve DELETE

But now she's distracted, distracted by the guilty feeling that she should have noticed he was late. Should have thought about him at all this evening, but she hasn't.

DELETE DELETE DELETE

And now, soundless tears are falling down her cheeks and she can't stop them. And she's guilty about everything and she doesn't know how to mend any of it because it's all out of her control but there is one thing she can control and it's easy because all she has to do is skip dinner.

DELETE DELETE DELETE

And she's so distracted that when she gets to the very bottom of the queue, she doesn't even see what's in front of her. Doesn't see the final three out-of-place titles. Doesn't see the mini love letter left there approximately eight months earlier, left there for her to find by a pretentious, head-over-heels someone:

325. I Confess  
326. I Wanna Hold Your Hand  
327. Like Crazy

DELETE DELETE DELETE

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	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N**__: __Hi everyone. Thank you all very much for the feedback - I'm glad you're interested in this story._

_This chapter, well, it just became the weirdest thing. So I could really do with some criticism, if you please._

_Oh and it's my very first time admitting that Chuck exists. A traumatic experience indeed._

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**Outtakes**** - **Chapter Two

**2014**

Tonight is one of those nights when Dan wishes he hadn't sworn off alcohol. (A resolution allegedly made because drinking gives him headaches, but in truth because it makes certain things surface, things that he has built his life around avoiding.)

Specifically, it's one of those rare nights when Chuck is gracing them with his presence.

At Serena's insistence they all gather once a month at whatever swish new eatery happens to be on everyone's lips. _All_ being those over whom Serena still has sway. Usually Chuck is terribly sorry but unfortunately he can't possibly make it because he has to dash over to Chicago for 24 hours. Nate sometimes attends but has a habit of leaving before dessert to go placate some seething, neglected girlfriend. But Serena will take what she can get because this is her life and these are her friends and they are going to enjoy spending time together if it kills all of them. So _all _usually means Dan and Blair.

And they put on a good show. There's no bickering, no put-downs, no insulting names. They are always perfectly civil to each other. Serena is delighted to see them getting along, because Serena has failed to grasp that this is the opposite of getting along. If they were getting along, there would be tension and friction and, quite probably, rudeness. Blair would not smile politely at Dan's lame anecdote about speaking to a guy who once spoke to William Faulkner. Dan would not chew his linguine in silence as Blair rants about the ugly ensembles of the Spanish slut who lives on the tenth floor. They would speak freely to each other and it would be real.

But there is nothing real between them now.

There are fleeting moments when it pisses Dan off that Serena doesn't worry about these evenings being awkward. That she thinks so little of what was once between him and her best friend that it's not even on her radar. Just fleeting moments though.

This evening, Dan has said almost nothing, zoning out while his companions hoover up wine and scandal. He wishes he could be as brazenly distant as Chuck, who for the last hour has alternated between sending e-mails, darting from the table whenever a call comes through, and flirting with the hostess as he saunters back. But it doesn't matter anyway, because Serena has failed to notice Dan's silence, due to being occupied with the outrageous news of Penelope-and-the-Aging-Soap-Star. It is all just noise and he concentrates on chewing and on the effort it takes not to think.

He tunes back in again as the waiter is hovering over them and Blair is shaking her head and saying "You must have something else, the Merlot is ghastly." Ha. As if this over-worked, underpaid wannabe actor will give a crap about some rich girl's exacting taste buds.

Once they finally decide on a bottle and go back to their conversation, Dan does something he never does. He looks at Blair. Really looks at her.

And as Serena talks animatedly about a trip to the Caribbean that she thinks they should take, he wants to listen. He really does. But he's looking at Blair and thinking about the fact that she is drunk. And about how she used to avoid getting drunk, other than on one or two pretty memorable occasions. And then she would get all worked up because it made her feel messy, less than perfect. _Perfect_. Once upon a time he thought she was _perfect_. Once upon a time he was even allowed to say it out loud. Oh god, booze or no booze, it's about to surface, everything he has got so good at drowning out and he definitely isn't equipped for this and fuck - it _has_ to stay down, to stay dead, or else it will overwhelm him, and then what? So he does the only thing he knows how to do, he puts his arm tight around Serena, so tight that she giggles. And he focuses on the sensation of his arm against her shoulders until there's nothing else, and he has won, and he's not in danger any more.

For a moment he wonders if he is the worst person in the world.

Then Chuck makes him re-assess.

"I have to go," Chuck declares, looking at his phone and rising quickly from his chair as if he is a surgeon about to go save a life, rather than a loaded brat off to swindle money out of some greedy sucker. "My apologies", he says, nodding at Serena.

"No!" pleads Blair, tugging on his sleeve like a neglected child, until Dan has to look away so as not to vomit.

"Blair, for God's sake, you know about this deal."

"But we - "

"I'll see you tomorrow", he mutters, and adjusts his rumpled sleeve before kissing her wine-stained pout and walking away.

Dan glances at her face, and it's as if a light has been switched off inside her. If only he hadn't seen that. He waits a moment, until Serena begins talking again.

"Excuse me", he says quietly, stepping away from the table.

He's almost at the door when he catches up to him.

"Hey. She deserves better," he says firmly, before he can even turn around.

There are so many ways that Chuck could respond. He could say _This is none of your business._ He could say _I know what I'm doing._ He could say _You know, you're right._

Instead he goes straight for the gut.

"My my, Humphrey. Still?" And he shakes his head. "That torch must be getting heavy. You've been carrying it for an awfully long time now."

Dan tries to ignore him. "Can't you see she's not okay?"

Chuck is laughing now, and Dan has to stop his hand from flexing into a fist. "What is the matter with you?" he says, as an alternative to a punch in the face.

Laughter still lining his face, Chuck looks at him long and hard. "You think you're going to rescue her? You're not the knight, Humphrey. You're not even the pawn." He pauses for effect and then whispers like a cartoon snake. "Because you're not in the game. You're nothing."

And then he's gone.

If this weren't all so horrible, Dan would be laughing too. The fact that Chuck is real, that he does and says these things, is so absurd. Does he buy his cheap dialogue from a Mexican mini-mart or what? He marvels that he didn't disappear in a puff of smoke.

When Dan returns to the table, Blair is shrieking much too cheerfully about how she doesn't mind and she wasn't expecting him to come anyway and she's just so happy that everything's going so well with his deal.

Serena turns and strokes his arm while Blair takes another swig.

"We should take her home", she tells him solemnly, as if she is the best samaritan who has ever lived, and definitely not a drama queen who needs to manoeuvre herself into the center of even the smallest crisis.

Then, hearing his own thoughts, he wonders: _When did I become such a nasty bitch?_

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He waits in the foyer while Serena puts her to bed. He's back in control of his traitor brain, and doesn't think about any of the things that have ever happened (real or imagined) on this exact spot. Instead he thinks about how weird it is that some people like Russell Crowe and also about how he heard some people have a gene that makes them hate cilantro. _Good job_, he tells himself.

It's not long before Serena is coming back down the stairs, shaking her head.

"I'm worried about her," she says.

He shrugs. "We'll leave a message with Dorota to check on her."

"I think we should stay."

"Stay? Here?" His voice is rising discernibly.

"We can stay in my old room. Just in case she needs someone."

Another of those fleeting moments, when he wonders how it's possible that Serena doesn't see how uncomfortable he feels in this situation, in this apartment, in this life. Everything is so simple for her.

He looks nervously up the stairs, wishing he didn't know the feel of her doorknob turning in his hand, the whisper of her rug under his toes, the scent of her soft sheets. Fuck. How did he just go there?

"Come on", Serena says, oblivious. She smiles and takes him by the hand.

While he watches the city lights stream past the window, Serena begins to channel-surf, until she suddenly finds something that pleases her; and with a squeal of delight she settles back into the couch.

Dan looks up at the screen and smiles thinly.

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**2007**

A fight.

A hallway.

An unlikely conversation.

_Believe it or not I actually came here myself._

_Normally I wouldn't be this close to you without a tetanus shot. _

_But I wish I had. Because even if it didn't change anything, she'd know how I felt._

And then it's quiet, and she has this look on her face, like she's going somewhere far away. And the brief, brief moment they just shared... is over. He feels sort of sorry, and sort of relieved, because he doesn't know what else to say and just staring at her is making him feel like a giant weirdo.

Finally she looks back at him and breaks the silence. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Well, uh, my legs were getting tired," Dan ventures. "And this looked like a comfy spot for a rest." He's pretty sure she doesn't want him to say what they obviously both know: that she looked like she needed someone to talk to.

She shoots him the patented Medusa Look. "I meant why are you _here_? At the shoot?"

"Oh." (Why does he feel guilty all of a sudden?) "Well, I mean, for Serena."

Her expression is unchanged. "This is your idea of a date?"

"Maybe. It seems sort of stupid now."

Her eyebrows shoot up at the opportunity. "You dating Serena?"

"No", he replies, as firmly as he can. "This particular _date_", and he wiggles his fingers like pathetic quotation marks.

She shrugs, as if to say 'Better luck next time'.

Everything is quiet. Feeling like a creep again, he starts to get up.

And then:

"She likes scary movies."

Dan stills himself. "What?"

"Serena. She likes scary movies." She's looking away, as if bored.

"Oh."

"Like _Saw_." She can't resist turning back a fraction, to see how he reacts to this news.

He grimaces. Then sits down again cautiously.

"Are you trying to warn me off? Because okay, I don't know Serena that well, but I really find it hard to believe that she's going to start detaching my limbs."

"No, you moron." Blair speaks very slowly. "I'm telling you that she likes scary movies."

He's still looking at her quizzically.

"So...?"

A sort of huffing sound. "So that might be a less stupid date."

"Oh. Right."

He reflects for a moment.

"Really? She likes those?"

"Really."

"But they're so - "

"I didn't say _I_ liked them", Blair snaps.

Her eyes are back on him now, like she can see right into his brain, into the 'Serena' folder which he is currently re-shuffling, replacing some of the things he made up about her with this new, unexpected fact. And like she is wondering what this re-shuffle means to him.

"Well, thanks. For the seal of approval."

"When did I say anything about approving?" and she turns away again.

He smiles. "Well, I should probably head up there."

She doesn't respond. He stands and then instinctively leans down, offering his hand to help her up. She looks at him like his fingers are smeared with fish guts, and gets up without his assistance.

It's not the last time she doesn't let him hold her hand.

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**2014**

It's still dark when Blair wakes up. She scowls in the gloom, trying to recall why her head feels like this. She doesn't even remember getting back. Groggily she switches on her bedside lamp. On the table she spots a glass of water and a handwritten note.

_I'm in the guest room if you need me, S xxx_.

Oh. Oops.

That's what happened. Dinner happened. Wine happened. Chuck happened. She wishes he was here, that she could just grab hold of him and cling on tightly and persuade herself that nothing else matters. It's always somehow okay when he's around, always much easier to fool herself, veil herself under the sheer weight of his personality. But when he's not there, she's exposed. She's in danger of turning into that scary thing she does so well to avoid: herself.

She shivers then, and registers that she's only wearing underwear - _for god's sake, what kind of crappy nurse are you, Serena?_ - and hops inelegantly to the door where her robe is hanging. Before she's finished tying it, she hears soft footsteps padding down the corridor. Amazed that Serena is already up, she flings open the door.

The figure that freezes guiltily before slowly turning its head is _not_ Serena. It's Dan Humphrey. It's a _rumpled_ Dan Humphrey.

She slams the door shut again.

Her headache just got twenty times worse.

She takes a moment to recover, hand still gripping the doorknob. "Why the hell are you here?", she finally snarls through the door.

"I was getting a glass of water," he whispers back, hesitantly.

"Tired of the malaria in the Brooklyn water?"

It isn't possible to _hear_ a smile. Right?

"No. Sorry. We're here because we brought you home and Serena thought... she thought we should stay. She did leave a note."

She ignores the last part, pleased that she has made him feel awkward. "A little melodramatic, don't you think? I do apologize if you were hoping for an enormous crisis on which you could base a magnificent story. I'm afraid I'm quite alright."

No response.

"Humphrey?" she asks, in a tiny voice. Her hand moves from the doorknob to press against her throbbing temple.

He must have crept away.

Then she hears him clearing his throat. "Well I'm glad to hear you're alright," he whispers.

Her odd relief that he is still there comes out as precisely the opposite sentiment.

"Well you'd better get back to your princess. She might have woken up and be wondering where you are."

"No", he says. "She's dead to the world. You know how soundly she sleeps after she watches a horror movie."

"What?"

"_Hostel_ was on earlier." And this time, she just _knows_ that he's smiling.

It's quiet again and once more she wonders if he's gone. Then she hears a sort of rustling and from the slightly altered sound of his next words, she realizes he has sat down against the door. For some strange reason she holds her breath.

"So you're ok?", he whispers.

She realizes she has to sit down too, to hear him properly. It's peculiar. Blair Waldorf does not sit on the floor. Except for those times when she does.

She finds she has nothing to say. So she simply rests her sore head on her arm, picturing his doubtless baffled expression.

"Because I know it's none of my business", he continues, "but you seemed pretty upset when Chuck - "

"You're right", she snaps. "It is none of your business."

"I'm sorry. But if you need help - "

"Is this an intervention? You know you're supposed to have the person in the same room, right?"

There's a long pause. It's so annoying, the way he runs his hand through his hair. Okay, she can't see it, but it's definitely happening, and it's annoying.

"You mean you want me to come in?" he asks.

"No!" she cries, much too loudly.

"Okay!" he hisses back.

She changes to a desperate whisper. "I mean, no, no, I do not."

She fiddles with the tie of her gown for what seems like an eternity.

Until:

"Blair, if you do need help - "

"If you could take just five minutes out of your busy schedule of being a judgmental ass, you would see that Chuck _is_ helping me."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay then." He's clearly drinking some water, uneasily.

She isn't going to explain it to him. That Chuck is there for her. That he has sent her to the best therapists. To a specialist clinic. That he sees perfectly well how defective she is. (She doesn't say that it would be better if she didn't need all of this help. Because she hasn't figured that out yet.)

He can assume whatever he likes.

"I'm sorry Blair. For you, that is. For whatever you need help with. Not for doubting Chuck."

Her voice is getting dangerously loud again. "You think he has zero dimensions, don't you? You think that the rest of us are cartoons. That you're the only one who's complicated."

He's quiet and she knows that she's hit the nail on the head. Right now he's either staring at the ceiling or biting his thumb-nail.

"I'm not that complicated", he whispers eventually. "I try to say what I mean. Even if it doesn't get me anywhere."

She can't stop the blush from rising on her cheeks. Luckily he moves on.

"And obviously Chuck is complicated. Come on, who could deny the intrigue of that much man-pain?"

She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile, just in case he can tell. And that's when she realizes that this is the first _real_ conversation they have had in two years.

There's another pause, and then he whispers that he should probably try to sleep now. "If only we all had it as simple as Serena," he adds.

Blair snorts. "You think Serena has it simple? God, open your eyes, Dan."

She might as well have slapped him. She could swear she felt him flinch. At the mystery of her words. At the use of his name.

"What does that mean?" he asks in a timid voice.

Shit. Not her place, not her place.

"Nothing."

"Blair?"

"Look, all I'm saying is that Serena tries so, so hard to be happy. And, well..."

"Yes?"

"It's making her not so happy."

"Oh."

"So."

"So."

"So you might want to look out for that."

"Thanks for the advice," he says slowly, obviously frowning. "Well, good night Blair."

She hears him pull himself up to stand, and the spell is broken. Flustered, she leaps up and goes to turn off her lamp. But just as her fingers meet the switch -

"Oh and Blair?"

He's closer than ever; his face must be right against the doorframe.

"What?" she whispers, approaching the door again, getting close enough to feel the deep rumble of his subsequent words.

"Are you up to date on your tetanus shots? Since I will be using your bathroom."

She maintains the Medusa look long after she knows he has gone.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N**__: __Thank you so much for the reviews, which were so helpful. I'm sorry if my 'snapshots' style leaves you with too many questions. But I'm also not sorry! Because I like me some mystery and it's proving a fun challenge to keep some things back. Hope that doesn't make you run away._

_Also, I just want to reiterate that Season Six did not happen in this universe. I know it might seem like it's starting from the same place anyway (everyone's with the wrong person), but it's important to me that no-one is married yet, no kids, no sex tape (5x24 counts as S6 in my head), Dan is not a long-time stalker, and actually most importantly they haven't all said the horrible things to each other that were said in canon._

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**Outtakes**** - **Chapter Three

**2015**

Blair is not a person who ever forgets, even after an uncharacteristic night of drinking. _But_, she tells herself, _no-one needs to know that._ So she lets them believe that she remembers nothing about the night when they had to take her home, lets _him_ think that she doesn't recall what passed between them at her bedroom door.

And she goes on as before, moving devotedly in orbit around the blazing sun that is Chuck Bass.

"You're mine", he tells her.

"You're beautiful", he tells her.

"I will fix you", he tells her.

She feels the burn that she long ago stopped trying to define. And as long as he keeps talking, she is a believer, faithful in the knowledge that it has to be like this, that this is the natural order of things.

But there are also more and more nights when she feels like spinning off her axis. And on those nights she knows who can help her. So she scrolls through the contacts on her phone until she reaches G, and she dials.

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It's not that Dan isn't trying to get through to Serena. Okay, he won't ask her directly about what Blair said to him, about happiness, about unhappiness; because then he would have to tell her about their conversation, and he can't do that because he wouldn't be able to hide how intimate and sweet and sad it had been. But in other ways, he tries - obsessively, in fact. As if understanding Serena, fixing her, would make everything okay, would magically transform him back into a good person. But when he asks her again and again if she's alright, if something's wrong, when he even draws on the old hurtful jibes that would guarantee a fight back in high school, she never takes the bait, just continuing to smile and laugh and seduce.

There is one strange night when her mask almost slips. It's because of his dad. Rufus has been living in Boston for several months, finally getting to know his other son. And also, as is plainly obvious to Dan, avoiding Lily and her new architect beau. But when Dan mentions this theory to Serena, her response isn't what he expected. She grabs his face and kisses him hard and joylessly.

"We are going to work". She sounds out each word slowly, firmly, definitively, her grip on his shoulders genuinely painful. "Got it?"

He nods and smiles and when he kisses her it tastes like the past. And with every day that goes by he's certain that he knows her less and less. So every night he stays up long after she goes to bed and he writes about other worlds, other planets, other futures.

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She's been looking in the mirror for the last twenty minutes, but all of a sudden Blair is startled by her own reflection. She has prepared meticulously. A thin coat of foundation brushed over her eyelids. A sprinkling of loose powder on top. Dark shadow defining her brows. But it's only as she drags the liquid eyeliner over her left lashline, trying to match the right, that she pauses, realizing what she has done. She's not Cleopatra. She's someone else entirely. But where the hell is she going to find a new costume at this hour?

The familiar shriek rings down the stairs: "Dorotaaaaaa!"

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He can't help it. Although he doesn't even want to go, he can't help obsessing over finding exactly the right costume. There's just something about parties, about him - _Dan Humphrey_ - actually being invited to parties, that brings out the desperate teenager in him every time. But does he want to fit in? Or does he want to stand out? That is the question. And as soon as he has asked it, he knows exactly what to wear. So he slicks back his hair with pomade, puts on the fancy suit he's only ever worn to a funeral, swipes Serena's most gender-neutral scarf, and slings the final accessory over his shoulder.

Serena soon glides into the room, stunning in her Wonder Woman get-up. She eyes him curiously, before asking: "Why are you dressed as Chuck?"

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"Happy Birthday, Nate!" Blair leans forward, fingers grasping at his stetson hat, and she plants a kiss on his cheek. It's too lingering, too close to his lips not to draw the attention of Nate's leggy Dutch girlfriend (in cheerleader get-up, _duh_), who scowls back at Blair.

"Thanks", Nate yells uncertainly over the pounding music, subtly positioning Blair at a more suitable distance while pretending to return her embrace. He looks at her warily and slowly it dawns on him. "Oh my god, Blair! I didn't recognize you. You look amazing."

"I know." She tilts up her chin seductively, the better to show off her exposed décolletage.

"You..." He swallows hard. "You don't look like you."

Her nostrils flare defiantly. "I know."

As his eyes shift uneasily over her, she returns the compliment, shamelessly enjoying the view. He really does look adorable as a cowboy, but it's not the most practical costume. In one hand he's holding a lasso, while the other is brandishing a plastic pistol, meaning he has no free hands to hold a drink or a joint, and thus the Dutch girlfriend is having to trail around dutifully beside him like a nurse dispensing his medication.

"Is Chuck here?", Nate asks.

Blair shakes her head. "Berlin. But he sends his happy returns. Happy, happy, happy returns", and she punctuates each 'happy' with an overly enthusiastic clap.

The Dutch girlfriend starts to whisper in Nate's ear and he grins, leaning into her. Then, with a final look over his shoulder, he tells her: "Have fun, B."

_Oh I will_.

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They only arrived five minutes ago and already Dan feels out of place. As soon as they had entered Nate's parlour, they'd stepped into a dark ocean of spacemen and milkmaids and gangsters and wizards and robots and pirates. God, not one original idea among the lot of them.

But he does laugh when Georgina Sparks cruises past, dressed as a Catholic schoolgirl. Not original, no, but hilarious on her.

"Dan." She says his name playfully, stretching it out like a moan.

"Georgina." He nods back. "Enjoying the party?"

"I'm seconds from falling asleep."

"Well I'm sure it'll pick up soon. There must be someone around here whose life you can reduce to rubble."

"A girl can dream." She pauses. "But why are you all alone and...", her eyes dance over him in confusion, "...dressed as Chuck Bass?"

He groans and shakes his head. "Why doesn't anyone get it? I'm not Chuck. Does Chuck carry an axe?" and he lifts his prop to show her.

Her lips curl in delight. "I love it when you get worked up." Then she leans in conspiratorially: "So Serena's not here?"

He indicates to a spot by the window, where Serena is standing with Nate, comparing their lassos - much to their amusement, and much to the horror of the Dutch girlfriend.

"Oh well," says Georgina in defeat. "I'll have to find myself another lost soul. Ta-ta for now." And she evaporates into the crowd.

Dan downs his glass of water and wonders whether he should just screw it all and get drunk. If everyone thinks he's Chuck, he might as well at least hold a glass of scotch, maybe sniff it. He jostles his way through a gaggle of cheerleaders to get to the bar.

And that's when he sees her. A small figure in an even smaller black dress, encrusted with crystals and truly as short as a dress can be and still be called a dress. On her feet are ballet shoes and atop her dark hair sits a glittering tiara. He glimpses a milky-white cheek, a corner of a deep red mouth, and an edge of black and green and feather-like eye make-up, surely the most intricate and dramatic he has ever seen (and he's seen a lot, with Jenny for a sister). _Now that's impressive_, he admits to himself. _The Black Swan_.

It's difficult to see any more because of the position she's in. Her body is mostly angled away from him, angled towards some guy dressed as a caveman. Dan recognizes him as one of Nate's old lacrosse buddies. He has a look of wonder on his face, which is hardly surprising considering the girl is stroking his cheek and pressing him into the wall with her nimble body. Dan stands mesmerized. She seems to be taking her time, teasing the guy without actually making her move, and it's one of the most brazen performances he can imagine in a public place. But it's as she leans in further, skimming her lips over the caveman's ear, that he realizes with a horrible lurch of his stomach what he is looking at.

The girl is Blair.

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**2010**

"Humphrey, you look absurd." She glares at the back of his head.

He turns around slowly, his grin making his appearance even more ridiculous. "Hello to you too, Waldorf."

"You look like a tree ornament."

"Well good, I was going for 'festive'. So I'm glad you approve."

"I can't believe something so tacky is actually sold in this city."

There's a glimmer of defiance in his eyes. "Jenny made it for me, actually."

"Okay, that's the last straw," she cries, whipping the chunky green hat from his head and thrusting it into his arms, which are raised in protest. With an amused shake of his head, he turns back in line, leaving her with just a view of his ludicrously messy hair and his stupid broad shoulders.

"I knew I should have booked my ticket online," she grumbles to herself as she waits impatiently.

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Ten minutes later, as Blair's eyes adjust to the dark, she spies Dan munching happily on his popcorn. She marches straight over to him.

"I hate you, you know," she whispers, arms folded.

He turns his head to her in mock outrage and sticks his hand out like he's directing traffic. "Two metre rule, Waldorf, two metre rule!"

"I know the rule! I made the rule!" she huffs. "I just wanted to say that I know what you were trying to do."

"Do tell?"

"You were flirting with that box office burn-out to annoy me."

He turns around fully now, like he's suddenly fascinated by her. "Now why would _that_ annoy you?"

She reddens at the implication and hopes the gloom of the theater conceals it. "Because! Because I told you that I can't miss the trailers, and so you wasted as much time as possible."

"For your information, I was renewing my membership."

She doesn't know what to say, because she already knows this, due to the masterful eavesdropping she had performed.

"And if you're so worried about missing the trailers, you might want to sit down", he says, indicating the screen above them.

There's a loud _Shhhhh! _from behind them, and she glares at him one last time before slinking away.

"That burn-out, she was cute though, right?" he whispers after her.

"Your babies would have eyebrow rings."

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It's cold in the theater and - three seats to the left, two rows in front - he keeps his coat on throughout the movie. She knows this only because his stupid broad shoulders sometimes obscure her view of her beloved Nenette. _Whatever_, she concludes, after pondering whether to move further away from him, _I can always see this again_.

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When it's over, she waits until after the final credit has rolled and _everyone_ has departed, before slipping out furtively.

Yet sure enough, over by the concession stand, he is lurking.

"Humphrey, why are you still here?" she wails.

He's not even slightly apologetic. "Did you like the film?"

"Well, obviously. What a question."

"Me too."

"So now we've finished our seminar, can you please leave?"

He shrugs ruefully and, when Blair looks like she might actually hit him, he finally gestures outside. "It's hailing. I'm hoping it'll pass."

She looks out at the street and is dismayed to find he is telling the truth. "Well, good, you stay put. Because I'm leaving, and you are going to wait at least five minutes. Got it?"

"How are you going to get home?", he enquires, as if it has anything to do with him.

"There's a car waiting for me," she declares, buttoning her gloves.

He looks dubious. "Look at it, I think it'll be a while before your car can get here."

"I employ reliable staff." Defiantly, she puts on her cloche hat. Her very-non-waterproof cloche hat.

"You know you _could_ take the subway."

"Pffft!" The noise sounds odd even as she is making it, and to her annoyance he looks entertained. Then, words failing her, she stomps out into the cold, ignoring his calls that she isn't going to like it out there.

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He was right. The car isn't there and she's freezing cold and hail _hurts_. She shivers and wonders whether five minutes have passed yet. She gets her answer when he emerges next to her, sporting the hat from hell once more.

"Looks like the hail is stopping."

"Go away," she hisses, trying not to let him see her teeth chatter.

"So you don't want to re-consider and try public transportation?"

"I am not squeezing myself in to some malodorous tin can with you, and that's the end of it!"

Dan puts his hands up in protest. "Hey, I'm not even going in the same direction. I was just offering some friendly advice."

"Look, could you just hasten back to your hovel? Before someone sees us and gets the wrong idea."

"Sure thing." And he departs with a mischievous little wave, chuckling softly and repeating _malodorous_ to himself.

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Blair is in the midst of a furious cell-phone conversation, throwing around words like _duty_ and _emergency_ and _pneumonia_, when she is interrupted by something being placed in her gloved hand.

"Merry Christmas, Waldorf." Dan beams at her. "Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it," he adds.

"Just get here!", she shrieks into the phone, before disconnecting the call. She looks down at her hand to see a yellow plastic card with a gaudy red bow attached.

Dan eyes her with the sort of anticipation more often seen in a small boy presenting an apple to his favorite teacher.

"What is it?", she asks suspiciously.

"Seriously? It's a Metrocard, Blair. See, M-E-T-R-", he starts to spell out before she interrupts him.

"I can read!" He falls silent and she frowns at the alien object.

"You don't have to use it now. But if you're going to be making regular excursions away from the Upper East Side, I thought this might come in useful."

"Why would I be making regular excursions?"

"To see movies?", he prompts, puzzled. "_Black Swan_ is on here next week."

"I never said we were seeing another movie."

He toes at the ice with his boot for a long moment. "Neither did I," he says, and then he sighs. There's something final about it.

This time, there's no wave. He's just gone.

And just like that, she notices how cold her feet are.

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**2015**

Dan cannot move. It's like the thumping bass-line is quicksand fixing him to the spot. It's not as if he isn't used to seeing her with another man. Chuck never fails to mark his territory - an arm around her shoulders during dinner, an un-called-for hand on her ass as he helps her into her coat, or that one deeply unpleasant time when she was blowing out the candles on her birthday cake, and his fingers were gripping her neck, ostensibly cradling her head as she leant forward, but reminding Dan rather more of a Vulcan nerve pinch.

But this? This is different, and stirs in him all those old and buried instincts that tell him he should be saving her. And when he sees her running one foot up and down the caveman's leg, he remembers how to move, and he lunges in her direction.

"Dan, don't. Please." Serena stands directly in his path, voice strong but firm.

"Why not?", he shouts, with a passion neither of them knew was still within him.

"You don't understand," she begs.

"You're telling me you think _that's_ a good idea?"

"I think it's complicated."

"And it'll be a whole lot more complicated if we let it go any further. What do you think Chuck will do if he finds out?" She's looking at the floor as he continues his rant. "Which he will. There are probably pictures online already." She raises her head again but says nothing. "Serena?" He waits.

"I can't tell you. Just... trust me."

"You're going to let your best friend, your very much _taken_ best friend, get pawed by a random Neanderthal? _Literally_ a Neanderthal?" He shakes his head and starts towards Blair again.

"Dan, stop," Serena cries. "She wants Chuck to find out."

"What?"

"He's supposed to find out."

He closes his eyes and laughs bitterly. "I'm an idiot. I should have known. They're still playing their sex games."

"No, he'd have to be in the same country for that."

"Then what?"

She tries a different tactic. "Let's just go," she purrs against his lips, hands on his chest. He stares at her, numb. Then she starts to walk away, looking back over one shoulder with a suggestive expression, assuming he will follow her. When he doesn't, she storms out of the room, cheeks aflame.

He doesn't want to look back, but he has to. Against the wall, Blair has taken one of the caveman's fingers, ready to place it between her lips. This time Dan reaches them in seconds, grabbing her by the elbow. He's about to speak, but in an instant she swivels away from the caveman and without even looking at him she has Dan pinned against the wall, her hips tight against him, one hand clasping his tie. Instinctively, he drops the axe and his hands curl around her waist.

"Oh, you want to play too?" She smirks, finally looking him in the eye. Her shock, as she registers whose body she is now gripping, is almost a match for his own.

"Dan?" she gasps.

All that make-up has transformed her, making her look half-alien, but through all of it he can still see _her_. He can still see the girl who once had him in an awfully similar position, making his mouth feel similarly dry, while she told him all the reasons a girl might love him. He suspects she can see the same thing. But this time, tears are threatening to fall.

"You guys are weird," opines the caveman, before lurching off through the throng of guests.

Dan and Blair are still fastened to one another, and he can see a trace of pink beginning to show through her deathly white face. He wonders how his heart can feel so much love and so much pain in one moment. If they stand here forever, will it change anything?

Finally she lets his tie drop, and attempts to pull herself out of his arms. "Get off me," she whispers furiously.

He doesn't, instead tugging her into an adjoining room as she struggles in vain. He shuts the door. They're in Nate's library, enormous bookcases lining the wall, though Dan has long suspected that Nate doesn't do all that much reading in here.

Blair stands facing the door. She is entirely still, composing herself. When she turns to look at him, her expression is eerily calm. She scans him up and down.

"Why are you dressed as Chuck?" she asks finally. He starts to groan but she interrupts him. "I'm kidding, Humphrey, I get it. You're Patrick Bateman."

"Bravo." He waits but she doesn't speak. "So... we're both villains."

She sniffs. "I'm not a villain. I'm just misunderstood."

He shakes his head. "We're not going to banter right now, Blair. Tell me what's going on with you."

"Oh go save someone who cares," she spits.

He steps closer to her. "This isn't you."

"Oh really?"

"You're not dark. Or tortured. Or hateful."

"What am I then?"

"You?" He gulps. "You are... you are... fun. You are funny. You are full of love."

She makes an odd sound, half-laugh, half-sigh. "You know nothing."

"I know that you're pretending to be okay when you're not." He doesn't say that the reason he knows is because it's the same for him. "I know that you're not happy."

Blair lets out a bitter laugh and reaches for the door handle, but instantly he pulls her back, more roughly than he meant to.

"I just want you to be happy, Blair. Tell me what would - "

"Don't!", she says with a sob, and then she's flying at his mouth, up on her tiptoes, pushing him into a bookcase, hands on his neck. And he can see it all, another future, an impossible future where he presses himself against her and pretends that this is okay, feels her warm mouth, her familiar taste, her soft shoulders, the safety of being with her. He can see all of it; but he can also see beyond her, to the caveman, to Chuck, to Serena.

"Blair, no," he manages to gasp, gently setting her back on her feet. "Not like this."

The tears that fall from her eyes stand out horribly, blending with her make-up to form smears of gray. As though he has been stung, he knows instantly that this image will haunt him long after tonight is over. "Please..." He reaches out to her but she's too fast. The door is open and then it's closed and then she's gone.

Seconds later he barrels out of the room, and as he rounds the corner he slams straight into Nate, who has lost his hat but gained a pair of nerd glasses. He is now exceedingly wasted.

"Whoa man", he drawls, patting Dan on the head again and again. "Wait, that's not right. Chuck wears a _bow-_tie."

"Have you seen Blair?" Dan pleads, trying to duck away from his caresses.

"Yes! I know! She looks amaaaazing."

"No but did you see where she went?"

"She was being real weird, like..." Nate pauses, distracted by a zombie shuffling past them. He observes it nervously. "You don't think she's one of them?"

"Forget it," yells Dan, scampering to the staircase.

"Or maybe she's an evil twin. Oh maaaan," Nate calls after him.

Out on the street it's raining faintly. A mermaid and a devil are doing a terrible job of hailing a cab, constantly getting sidetracked by each other's tongues. Dan tears past them, scanning the street for any sign of her, but she has vanished.

"Talk about deja vu," says an amused voice.

Georgina again. _Perfect_.

"Have you seen Blair?", he demands.

"Are you ever going to stop running around after her?"

"If you don't know where she is, this conversation is over." He sounds unhinged, and he knows it.

Georgina rolls her eyes and pats him on the back. "Poor little B will be just fine."

"And how would you know anything about this?"

She shrugs. "I'm kind of tight with Blair these days. She calls me. When she's looking for a good time."

"Blair? Calls you?" His lips twist into a sneer. "Now that's an amazing lie, even for you."

"I'm not lying."

"Then tell me what's going on with her." He steps closer to Georgina than can really be considered safe, and she loves it.

"That's an excellent question. Well, Serena thinks she's trying to get Chuck's attention."

"By groping random guys?"

"Amongst other pastimes. She's tried starving herself, she's tried drinking too much. Actually, she gets most of her inspiration from me." She smiles proudly. "Oh! Watching Blair Waldorf try and fail to develop an addiction to prescription painkillers? That was a real laugh riot."

Dan isn't laughing. "And Chuck doesn't notice?"

She nods impatiently. "Of course he does. He notices, they yell at each other, she cries, he tells her she's a fucking mess but he wants to be with her anyway. And then he throws money at the problem."

Dan stares at her, uncomprehending.

"Psychiatrists, a clinic in Switzerland, this weird therapy where you get obsessed with breathing the right way. He'd buy her a new soul if he had the right connections."

"Why isn't this all over Gossip Girl?"

"Chuck's been paying her off to hush it up."

Dan spins in a little circle of pent-up anxiety, then returns to the same spot. "This isn't Blair."

"Exactly. That's why none of it sticks, because deep down she's still Blair, she doesn't really want to be doing these things. She doesn't mean them." She sounds resigned, as if she can only dream of an accomplice who is as genuinely unbalanced as herself. She looks up at him through dark, innocent lashes. "But for what it's worth, I have a different diagnosis than Serena."

"Which is?"

"Do you remember what happened after she lost her place at Yale?"

He looks at her blankly again.

"No, of course you don't, because you were too busy boning your teacher."

"Get to the good stuff, Georgina."

"Well, she kind of lost it for a while back then. She kept saying she didn't want to be Blair Waldorf anymore. And she did all kinds of things she would never normally do."

"What does that have to do with now?"

Her eyes light up. "I think she's grieving."

"Grieving?" He lets out a long breath. "For the baby."

"The baby?" She 's flummoxed and then quickly adjusts, trying to sound sympathetic. "Oh yes, yes, the baby, such a tragedy." She exhales dramatically and dabs at one eye. "But I think she's grieving for something else too."

"What else did she lose?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She leans forward to tap him on the nose. "She lost you."

Dan opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Georgina's eyes sparkle with mischief, as she pretends not to understand what she has done. "Anyway, must dash, I have another soiree to crash. Ciao ciao."

And for the third time tonight, Dan is left alone, bewildered by a departing woman.

He doesn't move at first, feeling a kind of chaos swamping his entire body. Eventually he moves to the steps at the front of Nate's building, and sits down heavily. When he feels someone touch his arm, he spins round wildly, ready this time, ready to do it, to have her, and screw the consequences.

But it's not her.

"Come on," whispers Serena. "Let's go home."

**TBC**

_A/N: Oh dear, I know I am breaking them all into pieces. But it will make them stronger in the end, right? Your thoughts gratefully received!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hi guys - sorry I haven't been able to update sooner. I really appreciate all your feedback and patience._

_Someone asked whether I meant to skip a year between Chapters 2 & 3, and the answer is yes - the first three chapters take place a year or so apart. The reason for this is that I wanted the characters to have been messing things up for a painfully long time, making them truly trapped and harder to put right. It wouldn't be the same if this was all just happening over a few weeks after Season 5. It would feel like they'll just go round in circles forever, like they basically did/would in the canon universe. _

_Now having said all that, the jump this time is much smaller..._

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**Outtakes**** - **Chapter Four

**2015**

Timing is everything, and Dan's timing has never been the best. The day he witnesses Blair falling apart at Nate's party is the day he decides not to stand back any more. For the past few years, it's been so easy to hide behind his ignorance, behind everyone else's instinct for secrecy. But now he knows something that he can't un-know: that Blair is on a mission of self-destruction and that it might even have a little to do with him.

And he's going to do something about it.

He's going to help her.

He works through it all meticulously in his head, as if it's the plot of a detective novel he's trying to write. He has an instinct that he doesn't have much time. He's started reading everything he can lay his hands on about behavior like Blair's, and has learned that while 'acting out' may build gradually, there's a good chance it will climax in one big, messy act. Like cutting off all her hair. Or crashing someone else's car. And he's determined not to let it get to that stage.

Obviously he will have to tread carefully. She's not going to let him corner her alone, so he'll need some support to get to her. Maybe there's some way he can get more information out of Serena, without raising her suspicions about just how obsessed he is with Blair's well-being? He has to at least try.

He broaches the subject in the most subtle way he can think of, with a casual lie about Nate mentioning he's worried about Blair, and wasn't that night at the party odd, and hey what do you think happened there? Serena's answer comes in two parts: first, she tells him that they are never ever going to discuss that night again; and second, she whispers that she bought new lingerie today, and she moves his hands to her waist. He looks at her blankly, and mentally crosses her off his list of potential helpers.

Georgina is next. Or she would be, if she would answer his calls. But she's done one of her disappearing acts. Her husband doesn't know where she is either, or at least that's what he claims when Dan turns up at their apartment asking for her. Maybe Philip is lying though. _And maybe Milo's already a liar too_, he thinks bitterly, as he hears the little boy laughing and banging some kind of wooden toy, just before the door shuts in his face.

He calls Rufus, for a bit of that old fatherly wisdom. They're having a perfectly warm and open conversation until Dan brings up Blair. Immediately, Rufus becomes withdrawn, declaring that there's nothing more to talk about and reminding him firmly: "You're with Serena, son. Focus on Serena." Then he mumbles that he has to go and he hangs up.

A few days into his new quest, Dan even seriously considers calling Chuck. How does one call Chuck though? How does it work? Does a butler answer and demand a password? Can Chuck have you assassinated over the phone? He decides not to find out.

And soon he's back at square one, and concluding that after all he will have to handle this alone. With this realization comes a sense of greater purpose than he's had in years. He can help her, he can fix this... it's not like he can lose her any more than he already did... hell, even if she does commit some big, crazy act... if she converts to Scientology... if she burns down a house... he can handle it. He can handle anything because it's for her. And he's going to find her and let her know that.

As he sets off, he muses that it's like that scene in a cheesy movie where the hero runs to the airport to catch the heroine before she leaves forever. Except that this isn't about pedestrian, selfish love; it's not about him, it's about rescuing her for her own sake, simply so that he can help her be happy again. He can hear the triumphant music swelling in his head. It's so loud that it overwhelms the clanks and screeches of the subway train as it lurches its way up Manhattan. He taps his fingers impatiently against his leg, all the nervous energy proving impossible to contain. So soon, so soon, he will see her, he will help her. He spies a discarded newspaper and grabs it, scouring it for something to distract him for just a few more minutes.

And then he sees it. Somewhere between 77th and 86th Street, he sees in cruelest black and white that Blair has actually done it. The final grand display in her odyssey of self-destruction, and the one thing that it turns out Dan can't handle:

_Mrs. Eleanor Waldorf announces the engagement of her daughter, Blair Cornelia, to Charles Bartholomew Bass._

There's more but Dan has already dropped the newspaper and is striding to the end of the carriage, where there's a window open, where there's some air, where there's a chance of maintaining a tiny little bit of composure.

Timing is everything.

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**2011**

There's still ten minutes of the movie left, and Tracy still doesn't know who she's going to marry, when Blair says something weird.

"That is not an easy choice", she declares.

Dan turns his head slowly to look at her next to him on the couch, replaying her words in his head while cautiously watching her, her eyes wide and fixed on the laptop screen. It's not so much _what_ she just said (although it was kind of interesting, and certainly he's filing it safely away in a folder labelled 'Real Blair Waldorf' so that he can ponder over it later.) The really weird thing was _how_ she said it. It was as if English wasn't her first language, or as if she was reading the sentence aloud from a book and not getting it quite right. That was it - the emphasis wasn't right, why did she emphasize the word 'an'?

He doesn't have to wait long for an answer. Her eyes close suddenly and she is completely still, frowning ever so slightly. Her light breathing is now audible, and without meaning to he holds his own breath. Then seconds later Blair's eyes fly open again, wider than ever, making him jump. "Get on WITH IT, Dexter", she murmurs, staring at the screen once more.

Double weird.

He's just about to respond, maybe tease her a tiny little bit, when her head droops and she lets out a little sigh. Before he can register what is happening, she's shuffling closer to him and nestling her head into his shoulder, legs still curled up underneath her.

And that's how Dan learns that when Blair is fighting sleep:

a) she emphasizes the wrong words as she gradually loses the power of speech

b) eventually her body takes over

c) it's up there with the most adorable things this planet has to offer

She is so close to him now, the closest she has ever been that didn't involve a pointed finger or an accusation of a heinous crime. He doesn't yet know exactly how this works though, how _she_ works, whether she will snap awake again at any moment and run screaming to the nearest hospital to get treated for the diseases infecting the right side of her body. And it will make it worse if it looks like this scenario is in any way his fault.

_So_, he concludes, _I should probably stop staring at her pretty soon._

_Yep, pretty soon._

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It's nearly dawn and Blair is having a dream that she isn't going to remember. In the dream, she lives at the top of a magnificent oak tree on which the sun is always shining. Everyone is at her beck and call, all the little birds and squirrels and even - for some reason - a little toy soldier. They bring her shiny gems and cakes and magazines and and they run her bath (which is a truly exquisite bath considering it is built into a tree branch). She never has to leave the beautiful tree and, in fact, there is no way down. So when one day the sun dissolves and a storm sets in, she is trapped, exposed to the cold rain, to the wind sending tremors through her branches. All the birds and squirrels have disappeared and she's never been alone before and she's terrified. Then she hears him. "Come down!", shouts the toy soldier. "Down here!" And fearfully she peeks between the branches and she sees him, stationed all the way at the bottom of the tree, waiting to catch her. "Come down!" But she can't because she doesn't know how. So she shakes her head and clings desperately to the familiar branches. And there she remains, alone and cold and wet in her magnificent tree.

This is the reason that she wakes up shivering. Not, as she assumes, because blankets in Brooklyn are not fit for purpose. Throwing aside the offending cover, she jumps instantly to her feet. Her eyes travel around the loft suspiciously, as if there might be a paparazzo lurking inside one of those three guitars or maybe behind that poster of the grizzled old guy. Once satisfied that she is in fact alone, she starts to look around for her belongings. She finds her shoes under the coffee table, her bag on a stool, her jacket slung over the counter. God, the way she had made herself comfortable, anyone would think she lived here.

She has to get out of this loft. But her instinct to run away, and fast, is taken over by her good breeding, which tells her that she has been a guest in someone else's home and is obliged to express her gratitude. She fumbles in her bag until she retrieves a pen and then spins around frenziedly looking for something to write on. _Stupid modern bohemians with their lack of basic essentials_. Then she notices the pizza menu and well, it's not the classiest move she'll ever make, but it'll have to do. It's only for Dan Humphrey after all. Speedily, but with admirable penmanship, she begins to write on the menu in large cursive:

_Humphrey,_

_Thank y_

It's at this moment that a passing lorry sounds its horn. That one noise is like a bucket of cold water, reminding her exactly where she is and who she is - and suddenly she can't explain what she's doing. Why is she thanking him? He let her fall asleep before the end of the movie. He let her fall asleep on a cold, mangy couch when he knows how little sleep she's had lately. He let her fall asleep with unbrushed teeth after consuming pizza thick with garlic and onion and - mmm, that's a little bit of broccoli still lingering in her mouth, how delightful. Thank him?! She's going to kill him.

She stomps towards his bedroom, where she's going to push the door open. She's going to _shove _the door open. And then she's going to kill him. Except she doesn't. Because the door is already ajar, and a lamp is still blazing, and Dan is crashed out in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed. She can see right away that he's fallen asleep in the middle of doing something on his laptop, which is still open and displaying a wall of text - _really, is he writing the next Great American Novel or what?_ She hovers in the doorway, deciding on what to yell first. While she ponders, she peers around the room like a tourist visiting a sad slum. It's not as weird as she suspected it might be. There are no posters of Serena. Or of Nate. There are a great deal of some things, such as books, and none of others, such as mirrors. _Oh, look at that. He doesn't have any pillows. Creepy. _Yet he's still managing to sleep somehow, and he does look peaceful. He also - if she takes a step back and assesses it objectively - looks kind of, sort of, you know... _handsome_.

No sooner has this thought entered her head than she forgets all her intentions about yelling and goes back to Plan A, which involves running as fast as her pumps will carry her out of this godforsaken loft.

As the door slams, Dan leaps up in confusion. "Blair?" he calls out quietly. He hurries out of his room, fully awake within seconds, and he knows that she's gone. He's not going to give himself a second to dwell on any of this, so he goes to work gathering up from the couch the pillows he'd arranged around her when she fell asleep. He hopes she was at least comfortable except _no_ he doesn't hope anything because there will be no dwelling. He's turning to go back to bed when he spots the message on the menu.

_Humphrey,_

_Thank y_

He's not going to dwell on it, but he's unable to stop the smile that's forming on his face. This is more than he could have expected from her. And he'll take it.

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**2015**

Blair's had it re-sized twice, and still this exquisite, jaw-dropping ring doesn't feel right. She twists it compulsively and at night, if he's not around, she takes it off to give her finger a few hours of rest.

On the evening of the engagement party all the twisting just makes it look like she's showing off, and no-one guesses at her discomfort. Wide-eyed, envious guests circle around the magical couple, hoping a little of their good fortune might be contagious. Chuck rubs her arm with an insistent motion.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers against her cheek.

She smiles and says nothing. She's really, truly happy. Any moment now she might even be able to feel it.

"You're so perfect now," he continues. She registers that he's referring to the fact that she hasn't had a drop to drink (though she always holds a glass so that people won't notice and wonder).

"It's all perfect", she replies, gazing around the spectacular room, admiring with hollow eyes the intricate canapes and the dazzling flowers. She doesn't need alcohol any more, she tells herself. She doesn't need anything. She's won. She has exactly what she wanted all along. She's the person she was destined to be. And she's beautifully numb.

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Dan is resigned to the fact that he will have to attend the engagement party, and feels nothing at the prospect. He puts on a suit - foregoing the tie - and lets Serena drag him first to a dinner with Lily and her new fiancé, David the surgeon. Eating dinner while sharing hollow words and bogus laughs is not a new experience for Dan. As Lily maintains her mechanical smile, Serena talks endlessly about her sudden plan to start an events company, and Dan makes endless faces that say _How interesting_; and doesn't bother to tell any of them that he just sold a screenplay.

His indifference does not get past Lily, who corners him when the meal is over, and hugs and handshakes are being dutifully exchanged.

"You might want to follow Charles' example," she says with purpose, as she feigns kissing his cheek.

Dan splutters out a little laugh. "You know, purple really isn't my colour."

Lily purses her lips. "You should think about giving Serena what she wants. I can help you pick out the perfect ring."

He hesitates, wary of the intent in her eyes. "I'm not sure that's where Serena and I are at," he replies carefully.

Lily leans over his other cheek, and speaks straight into his ear. "Your selfishness astonishes me, Daniel. This isn't just about the two of you." All of a sudden there is more emotion than he thinks he has ever heard in her voice. "This affects other people, you know."

He steps back from her and tries to read her expression. "Actually, I don't think I do know?"

But she's whipping her face away from him, linking her arm with David's, and then they're gone.

He broods over her words as he waits with Serena for their car to arrive. She doesn't speak but he can feel her eyes on him, ever gazing at him, studying him, attempting to be truly _his_ through sheer bloody effort. Finally she breaks the silence.

"What did my mom say to you?" Her voice is shaky.

"Nothing," he insists, his hand awkward on her shoulder, as if she's a pet.

She frowns back at him. "Dan?"

He shrugs and figures she will give up. And then she starts to cry. Stunned, he moves closer to her. "Serena?"

Her tears threaten to choke her and she can't answer. Serena never cries. Serena is always happy. He's starting to feel scared. She takes several deep breaths as she wipes at her face. "The other day, that girl at the salon, she thought we were brother and sister."

"Well luckily we're not." He smiles as genuinely as he can. "Right?"

She looks down and he's not sure she's even listening to him anymore. "I've ruined everything."

"Of course you haven't. We're okay. I'm here, aren't I?"

"I wasn't talking about us," she says with a shuddery breath. And then she looks up at him again, as if she is ready, ready for him to hate her.

He feels like something cold is rising in his stomach. He takes a step back to look at her. "Serena. What did you do?"

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In her blissed-out state, Blair didn't even notice when Serena missed the engagement party. It takes a call from Eric for her to learn the truth.

"Serena's gone, Blair", he tells her bluntly, not bothering to soften the facts. "She left all her stuff and she bolted. She didn't say anything to you about leaving?"

"No, nothing," she murmurs, trying to remember the last time she and Serena had anything resembling a real conversation. "What about Humphrey?"

"What about him?" he asks.

She attempts a complicated mental trick of talking about him without picturing him. "He doesn't know where she is? Did something happen between them?"

Eric sighs. "I think that might be part of the problem. The lack of things happening between them."

"What do you mean?"

"He says that she freaked out on the night of your engagement party. And then she started saying she'd ruined everything... and he has no idea what she meant, but Blair... I think she nearly told him."

"Well maybe somebody _should_ tell him," she snaps.

"What good would it do now?" His voice is heavy with sadness.

"I don't know." She twists at the ring, removing it from her finger, then sliding it back on again. "I don't know," she repeats. "I guess it's all destiny. It's not up to us."

Eric pauses. "Are you okay, Blair?"

"Me? I'm perfect." _Doesn't everyone know that?_

"Right. Well look after yourself. And if you hear anything from her, please call me right away."

"Of course."

She gets to work leaving frantic messages for the run-away, ignoring the niggling thought that Serena has finally done the right thing, and that she loves her for it. But still she pleads over voice-mail. She begs via text message. She implores in several lengthy e-mails. As she makes the Skype call, she's forgotten that Eric said Serena left behind all her belongings, so she won't have her laptop with her. Maybe she's forgotten. Or maybe that's just what she tells herself when the call connects and she sees Dan Humphrey looking back at her.

"Blair," he says guardedly, but she has already disconnected.

He calls back immediately.

She shuts down the software.

He sends her an instant message.

She snaps the laptop shut.

Her phone buzzes. _Fine, I'm coming over there right now_, says his text message.

God no. She twists her ring off, on, off, then places it on her bedside table, and makes the video call again. She sits primly, hands in her lap, as his face appears in front of her. "What do you want?" she asks frostily.

He leans in closer. "The truth. What did Serena do?"

"That's what you want to know? Not where she is, not how to save her?"

He shakes his head. "I'm done saving people. It never seems to stick. And besides, for too long Serena's been denied the chance to practise her one great talent, running away. Why not indulge her?"

He sounds almost menacing and she has to remind herself who she is listening to. "So," he continues. "What did she do?"

"It doesn't matter any more."

He brings both hands to his head. "I swear to god if you don't tell me what happened - "

"When did you become such a horrible person?" Blair shouts suddenly, shocked at her own loss of composure and at how much she hates the way he is acting. He moves his hands down and looks back at her guiltily.

She shakes her head. "Serena messed up, yes. But what about you? What have you been doing? Skating along like you're barely alive. Being with her like she's something to tolerate, like you have nothing better to do than stick with her. Do you even get what loving someone means?"

It's hard to tell, because the video quality isn't faultless, but as Dan stares back at her she thinks fleetingly that she sees tears form in his eyes. He turns his head away for a moment and then he nods slowly.

"You're right. I don't know a thing about it. Unlike you. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you," she replies in a small voice.

"Where is he?" he asks.

"San Francisco."

He looks at her like he might never ever stop, until she can't take it any more and she opens her mouth to say good bye, and then: "You're really okay, Blair?" He sounds like he had to force himself to say it.

"Obviously." She examines her fingernails, frowning.

"Good. Because last time I saw you... it made me worry."

"You're such a drama queen, Humphrey. You were the one carrying an axe." She senses that she's managed to safely steer them away from anything deep and meaningful, and she should really go now. Just one more quip. "Those ballet shoes were murder on the toes though."

For the first time in - _is it possible?_ - years, she sees the ghost of a small smile on his face. "I never pegged you as the ballet type," he ventures. "I mean, swooning over Degas excepted."

"I'm petite, I'm graceful, I'm a bitch; what more do you want?" She raises her eyebrows in a certain sassy way that she hasn't in a long time.

"I would really like to talk to you some time," he says abruptly.

She is taken aback. "You're talking to me right now."

"No, I mean talk to you." He leans in. "Not through a computer. And not through a door either, or while we're wearing costumes. I would like to actually talk to you."

"I have to go," she insists. And she doesn't mean to catch his eye again as she hovers over the 'disconnect' button. She doesn't mean to hear his small sigh. She doesn't mean to notice the take-away box behind him and wonder whether the pizza had broccoli on it. But when she does, she wavers.

"What would you say?" she asks finally.

"What would you want me to say?" He's so quiet that she wonders if her speaker is working properly.

"I would want you to say that you're happy," she admits.

"I said I want to talk, not lie."

She adjusts herself, resting back against her pillows and she lets her gaze travel up to the ceiling. "I'm getting married. When you're married, you don't just go around talking to people."

He laughs unreservedly at the absurdity of her words. It's not the infectious kind of laughter, the kind that's meant to be shared. It makes her feel pretty lonely, in fact.

"Blair," he says, as the amusement dissolves from his face. "I don't want to come to your wedding."

"Good!" she snaps. "Because you're not invited." She looks over at the ring and wonders whether he can see it. "Why don't you want to come?"

"Why aren't I invited?"

"You first."

He cups one hand around his face and answers casually. "Because I'm getting old and I don't have the energy to drive a get-away car, or run around an airport, or get yelled at all night."

She snorts, as she absent-mindedly pulls the cover up around herself.

"So why aren't I invited?" he insists.

"Because I decided not to invite any children, and you're a whiny baby." She means it, but it still fills her with relief when he grudgingly returns her grin.

"When is this event anyway?" he asks.

She stifles a yawn. "It will BE in the fall." She blinks rapidly.

"Blair, are you... falling asleep?"

She opens her eyes wide in annoyance. "Of course not. I don't even FEEL tired."

"Oh okay." She doesn't know that he knows the signs and has decided to play along. "So what else shall we talk about, since we won't be talking again after this, since married ladies can't talk to people?"

"I don't remember. THERE is a lot to say." And as she makes these half-nonsensical statements, her head slowly falls onto the pillow and he can hear the rustling of her duvet as she wriggles deeper inside.

"Hey Blair."

"Mmmm." She's so comfy. Everything's gone all nice. _Why is it so nice?_

"What did Serena do?"

"She killed a man." She waits and then giggles to herself. "Nah, just kidding."

"What did she do?" he sing-songs at her.

"Shut up Humphrey," she trills contentedly, like it's her favourite nursery rhyme. She hears him shuffling and she's still conscious enough to know that she wants to delay him. "Dan?" she mumbles.

"Yes?" he whispers back.

"Don't go. Stay until..."

"Okay."

And although her eyes are closed now and she can't see that he is watching her sleep, and can't see that he continues to do so for a very long time, right until he too falls into slumber, somehow she knows anyway.

**TBC**

_A/N: Gah, why can't I just write cute scenes and not torture myself with all the angst? Send help._


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **__Guys, I can't apologize enough for the delay, especially since the response to Chapter Four was so lovely. Thank you. Not one of you said 'Shut up about Serena already', to my surprise and relief. Anyway, life has been getting in the way but finally I'm ready to continue, and I really hope you like it._

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**Outtakes**** - **Chapter Five

**2015**

Blair pushes her sleep mask off, just like she always does, and she stretches her arms up high above her head, just like she always does, and then - well, then she does something she almost never does. She smiles. That was a seriously delicious sleep, long and deep and peppered with dreams about an adorable little tin man. No. A toy soldier. That's what he had been. She props herself up, admiring the pretty morning light creeping in around the curtains, still feeling the warmth and safety of her slumber, as if she's five years old and knows nothing of the outside world. She's positively beaming. Right up until she notices her laptop staring back at her from the other side of the bed. _Oh crap_, she thinks, smile vanishing from her lips. And then: _Not again_.

It's not the first time she's been through this routine. In fact, the first time, when she awoke to the realization that the previous night she had, in a matter of minutes, gone from ice queen to bedding down like a small rodent _in front of Dan Humphrey's eyes_, she was so appalled that she had immediately disabled video on her laptop.

It didn't help. A few days later his ramblings appeared in a chat window - irritating questions like how was she doing and when was she going to tell him what Serena did? She figured that if she blocked him he would only pop up somewhere else, so she ignored all of his questions and typed back that he should shut up, and somehow that led to an argument about James Joyce and Samuel Beckett and post-modernism; an argument which lasted right up until Blair fell asleep in the middle of a sentence (the sentence went something like: **You're the most annoying pergnmf,bnm,bnssnb**.) The next morning she was so horrified - not least by her blissful dreams - that consequently she didn't use her laptop for a week. She told herself it was because she was too busy.

It didn't help. Soon he was sending her texts asking if she could believe it was snowing again and whether her wedding planning was going well and hey by the way what did Serena do? She thought about changing her number but she was concerned that such a move might only antagonize him and make him do something drastic, like come crawling out of Brooklyn to hassle her _in person_. So she shot him short, terse replies and when he persisted she sent back stock phrases that came with her phone, phrases like "Sorry, I am busy now" and "Sorry, I am in a meeting." He retaliated with some of the ugliest emoticons she had ever seen, including a smug man wearing shades, and a vomiting fellow, and a ninja - all because she once said emoticons were crutches for people without the brain or wit to express themselves using words alone. And her lingering smile as she fell asleep? She told herself it was one of pity for him and his idiocy. But just to be safe, she stopped replying in the days that followed.

It didn't help. Because then there was last night. The night when Blair felt certain that her equilibrium was restored (Dorota had stopped aiming suspicious glances at her), and that she was ready to switch her laptop back on. It didn't go quite to plan. How reading a report about climate change while browsing Jimmy Choo's online store had led to a conversation about creationism and evolution and Richard Dawkins, she would never be able to explain. Nor the bubbles of laughter that would rise out of nowhere just when he was irritating her the most. Nor how it was that he didn't bug her about Serena once. All of a sudden she found her own self-control button and she pushed it abruptly.

**I'm going to sleep**, she told him.

**Ok, sleep well**, came the reply. **Oh I meant to say. There's an Almodóvar retrospective at the Angelika. I think I'll go tomorrow, if you're interested?**

She stared at his words for a few long seconds and then frantically snapped the laptop shut without another word. What just happened? Did Humphrey just casually suggest they go to the movies together? And not just 'some time', some abstract time that might never come, but 'tomorrow', tomorrow being a specific _date_ in the calendar? She cannot be making _dates_ with him. That cannot be. She already has someone in her life for movie dates. Okay, maybe they never went on them but they most certainly could.

When she crawled into bed she was still indignant. She even yanked a fair number of feathers out of her pillow in her anger. But then... then the dreams... and the smiling... and the inner peace... She's going to throw that laptop away. That's what she's going to do. And her phone while she's at it. Who needs a phone in this day and age?

And it _will_ help. She will rule over these feelings. This positively overflowing mess of feelings: embarrassment and safety and anger and warmth and then a quickly escalating panic. She feels more than she felt in those two years of drinking, partying and trying to obliterate herself. She needs to kill every single one of these feelings and she knows exactly how to do it. She claws at her dresser where the half-a-million-dollar solution has been lying proudly all night. She pushes the ring firmly onto her finger and, like plugging a leak, it works. She's numb again.

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, in, out, in, out. Then she reaches for her phone. He answers distractedly.

"Chuck?" she says determinedly. "What time will you be back from your trip?" She places a pillow over the laptop so she doesn't have to look at it. "Let's go to the movies."

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He should have known better. Sure, Blair is in many ways a crazy person plus it's not like Dan could expect to know much about whatever's been happening in her head over the last few years. But still, he should have known that for every step he made towards her, she would take two steps back. He can't remember why he even started. Maybe something to do with feeling alone and reckless and like there was no more time to be wasted in his one little life. Something to do with wanting to talk to her and deciding not to pretend otherwise. With Serena gone, he didn't have to pretend any more.

In some ways it was just like the last time he and Blair became friends. Except this time they were never actually in the same room together. And this time she was even more cautious.

He thinks, as he often does, about what Georgina had said to him. About Blair doing her damnedest not to be Blair any more. He could feel it in their recent communications. He suspected that when she was in danger of having fun, maybe even laughing, those were the times when she'd tell him to shut up. When she was in danger of being loose and free and real, those were the times when she'd vanish. Like last night, when she suddenly announced she was going, like a shutter had come down between them. And then he'd extended - spontaneously or perhaps not so spontaneously - that invitation to see a movie together. Even if he'd tried to make it sound casual - no hint of the fact that it would be his first time inside a movie theater in three years - he should have known better. Of course that would make her run. She was probably smashing her laptop with a sledgehammer at this very moment, maybe even putting out a hit on him. He should probably think about giving up.

He's distracted by the buzzing of his phone. It's his film agent again.

"Hi Ted." He tries to sound energetic, not like someone who's been living in the same pyjamas for days, and whose only words have been while paying the delivery guy.

"Daniel! I'm giving you one last chance. They'll be shooting in New Mexico for five more days. You've gotta see this set."

Dan keeps it to himself but actually he has seen it - he found some leaked photos online and it did look seriously impressive. "Sounds great, it really does, but I just can't. I'm really busy here."

Ted groans. "Kid, you should be there. It's your first film. Why would you miss out on watching it come to life?"

"I just can't," he repeats firmly.

"You can still go with the pseudonym when it's released. Only the director would know it was you who wrote it. And the producers, obviously."

"And the actors. And the caterers. And the dog handler."

There's a pause. "I get it. I get that you dig the anonymity thing."

_Actually, what I dig is the not-having-to-be-Dan-Humphrey-thing_. Even so, he finds himself considering the appeal of escaping. Maybe he really could go. Maybe it would be life-altering to watch them translating his words into film. Maybe it doesn't matter if he's Dan and everyone knows it. Maybe he will always be flattered by any invitation that comes his way, that makes him feel wanted, included. Maybe it would be really, really healthy to go somewhere far away and to stop fixating on Blair.

"You know, you might be right," he says out loud and unexpectedly.

"Hell yes. There's a flight at three."

He's half way to the airport when he changes his mind. Who is he kidding? If he goes, if word gets out that he wrote this film, no-one will take it seriously. He'll be ridiculed for trying to do something so far out of his comfort zone. Or worse, people will misinterpret it, say it's still about privilege and outsiders and desperation. He asks the cab to turn round and take him to Penn Station.

As he sits in contemplation on the train to Boston, he can't believe what he almost did. Of course he's not going to go and unmask himself to a group of strangers in an unfamiliar place. What he needs is to see someone who won't judge him, someone he's not scared of being Dan around. He needs to see his dad.

He knocks on the front door, wearing a boyish grin, excited to surprise Rufus. But when it flies open, the surprise is on him. Of all the people who could have answered the door, Dan would never have predicted this one in a million years.

"Serena?"

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"Wow", says Blair, with as much commitment as she can muster. "Wow."

"So what do you think?" drawls Chuck.

Blair shakes her head, eyes skimming over the rows of empty seats ahead of them. "A whole theater to ourselves. How?"

"Friends in high places." He trails his hand along her knee. She shivers, and Chuck's eyes blaze. He doesn't seem to register that it's a very large, empty theatre which means it's cold and when it's cold, people shiver.

"More caviar, miss?" Blair shakes her head and smiles thinly at the hovering waiter.

"You can never have enough caviar," Chuck says superciliously.

_Yes you can_, she thinks. _You can easily have enough caviar_. Then, hearing her own thoughts, she hates herself for being so ungrateful. _It's like getting to ride in a limo_, she tells herself, _when all the other poor souls are stuck on the bus._ She stares at the plates of hors d'oeuvre and the waiting staff - they get two each - and she wills herself to feel appreciative. Things are just as they're supposed to be. Her perfect fiancé has arranged the perfect date, and he's saved her from lowly experiences like popcorn. Or trailers. What a lucky girl. She twists her ring and turns to him. "So, what are we watching?"

"You'll see," Chuck smirks.

"Is it a comedy?" she asks.

"Maybe."

"A drama?"

"Maybe."

"A documentary?"

"I'm not telling you."

"It's not 'Lord of the Rings', is it? I know how you love the epic thing, but - "

"But I'm wrong, I know. I know." He squeezes her thigh.

She frowns. Where was the fun in that? That wasn't a debate. She didn't even get to make a rebuttal.

"You'll just have to wait and see," he continues smugly. "All I'll tell you is that it won't be released for another six months and that I had to pull some serious strings to get a copy of the print." He leans over to kiss her, before adding: "Princess."

She's momentarily confused but then the lights start to go down and she settles into her seat, relieved that they're not going to be watching some old classic as she had feared, something with silly associations in her head. She glances at Chuck and wonders if he is going to sit up like that for the whole movie, straight and tense, as if listening to a sermon. He looks down at his phone and she nudges him to turn it off. He grins back at her. "But that's the beauty of having the place to ourselves. I can keep it on." Then, in a much louder voice than necessary: "We can do whatever we want! We can talk throughout the movie!" He looks delighted with himself.

_But that's not the point_, she thinks, as the screen is filled with a starry sky and and an orchestra plays "When you wish upon a star" and fireworks burst around an animated castle.

_Disney?_

_Oh shit_.

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**2012**

When they get back to the penthouse, they're still holding hands and it feels odd to let go. There's a delicious kind of tension between them, just the right side of awkward to make both of them aware of every single thing the other one does. Like the way he blinks more rapidly as he perches on the edge of the bed. Like the way her face relaxes as she kicks off her shoes onto the rug.

Blair approaches her reflection in the mirror, shaking her head and smiling slyly as she takes in the sight of the enormous pink gown and discount tiara. "I can't believe I let you do this."

"I guess it's the end of the world." Dan shrugs, as he stands up again. "You know the Mayans did say that would be happening this year." He slides behind her as he talks, looping his arms around her waist and pressing kisses along her neck.

"You do, you know." She lets out a jagged breath, as she admires them in the mirror, delicately removing the tiara and placing it down as it if it's truly fragile.

"What?" he murmurs.

"Make me feel like a princess."

"Good." He gently moves her hair to one side, in order to increase the canvas available to him. "Although I have to wonder what that makes me?" he asks, lips never leaving her skin.

She rolls her head into him. "You're the faithful right-hand man, of course." A sudden shiver at the sensation of his tongue close to her earlobe. "Actually, if we're talking Disney you're more like a right-hand crab, or candlestick or - "

"Don't say dwarf," he interjects, abandoning her neck suddenly, which causes her to reach back and seize his head, moving it firmly back where she wants it. "Yes, Princess," he responds, laughing and then continuing as before.

"I was going to say you could be a genie, making wishes come true," she whispers back.

Dan lifts his head to shake it vigorously. "This is getting really weird, Blair. Like, creepy fan fiction kind of weird."

She throws her arms up. "Fine, who do you want to be then? Come on, which princess were you into when you were growing up?" She turns suddenly to meet his eyes, and her own are full of mischief as she starts to move her hands over his chest. He simply stares back at her with a puzzled expression, and she misinterprets his silence. "Oh, how silly of me," she scoffs. "No Disney for you. It was all subtitled Japanese animation for Baby Dan."

He raises his eyebrows. "Hello, I grew up with a little sister who was so inspired by the crafty little birds in Cinderella that she based her future career on them. I _know_ my Disney princesses."

"Which one then? Or shall I guess? Hmm." She ponders as she starts to undo the top buttons of his shirt. "I bet it's that blonde drip in Sleeping Beauty. The one whose name no-one even remembers. Classic damsel in distress."

"Nope."

"The Little Mermaid? She collects all that tacky stuff in her dark little cave. It's just like your loft!"

He looks away briefly before he confesses. "The one that comes to mind is actually Belle."

"_Of course_. The bookish type. So obvious."

She hesitates at the last button and he reaches suddenly for her hips, pulling her against him. _Finally. _"Not just that. She sees beyond appearances... eventually." He pauses, a little smirk growing on his lips. "She reminds me of someone."

She shakes her head at his feeble analogy, but at the same time a rush of affection propels her forward, so that her lips are at last against his. Their kiss is achingly long and slow. Soft and rough all at once, familiar and somehow brand new. As his tongue glides over hers, she marvels yet again that this is actually happening and at the same time wonders that they ever did anything else. Slowly she pulls back and looks at him closely. "I do see beyond appearances. Right now I see that you appear to be wearing too many clothes. Far too many." While he shrugs off his shirt, she reaches down to undo his pants, and he hums in agreement.

"You're one to talk," he says gruffly, as his pants fall around his ankles and his fingers fumble for the zipper on her ridiculous dress. And then: "I sure do make life hard for myself." He manages to manoeuvre the bodice down to her waist, and she shudders as he plants kisses between her breasts; but then he can't work out how to rid her of the layers of skirt obscuring her from him, until she grabs his hands and just encourages him to push the fabric upwards. Lips back on hers, he starts to move her backward towards the bed and she answers _yes _without breaking the kiss. As they tumble back, he crawls over her, pressing into her as his hands dance up her thigh, delving under all those layers like a brave explorer.

She breaks away. "So did we just decide that you're the Beast?"

"I think at this point I'm whoever you want me to be," he says, intent in his voice, fingers toying with the silk bow on her panties.

"Whomever," she corrects but it comes out more like a moan, because she's losing it with the way he's looking at her. She loves it when he looks at her like this, full of lust but also joy. It's a look she's never seen on anyone else. _This is fuuuun_, swirls round her head like a storm. He kisses her like he'll never stop, until suddenly he's pulling back to gaze at her, as he slips her underwear down her legs at a leisurely pace. And then it happens. She's scared. Everything has started to feel deadly serious, and she thinks he might say something, something huge, and she knows that she isn't ready for it, and she feels truly naked. So she snaps "Get on with it" at him. And to her relief he seems to get it, growling cartoonishly into her ear so they're both laughing as he finally sinks into her.

And as they slide together, their world is light and fun and perfect again and there's really no reason why Dan should be able to tell that this is the beginning of the end, when she doesn't even know it herself.

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**2015**

He sits opposite Serena, with Scott placed uncomfortably between them as a buffer. There aren't many other customers in this twee little café, and the folk music dribbling from the radio is low enough that the silence in the air is palpable. Serena's eyes are red and Scott looks like he wants to comfort her, but doesn't think he knows her well enough. Or maybe it would look like he's taking sides. Dan, for his part, looks nauseated.

"So by coming here," he says slowly, "you thought you'd be absolved?"

"No!" Serena cries. "I'm not asking to be forgiven." She wants him to look at her but he won't. "I just wanted to make things right. And I thought if I came here and tried to get Rufus to come home, it would be a good start. But it's all pointless anyway. He's given up."

Dan shakes his head and Scott steps in. "I think what Serena means is that this isn't about her. It's about Lily and Rufus."

"Exactly," she nods.

"I just..." Dan raps his hand against the table. "I can't begin to understand how you could bully your own mother like that."

She's struggling to look at him too. "I was desperate. I needed her to know I was serious."

"It was emotional blackmail." His voice is rising dangerously. "You made her choose between you and the love of her life."

The waitress approaches to refill their coffees, then turns away awkwardly on seeing that no-one has taken a sip.

Serena draws in a deep breath. "I thought it was the only way. You and I together - we never worked at the same time as the two of them together. It was like the universe wouldn't allow it or something. So I fought for us."

Finally his eyes, dark with anger, meet hers. "Even though you knew it would make them miserable."

"But I figured... they'd had their chances. They'd used them all up."

He shakes with a kind of twisted laugh. "You don't get to decide how many chances two people have together."

"I did decide though." Serena gulps back tears. "Once you tell your mother you'll never speak to her again if she reunites with her husband... it's decided."

"And then...?"

She wipes away a stray tear. "Then it was like a mission to the death. Our relationship _had_ to work."

There's a long silence. Scott shuffles in his chair, sincerely regretting having offered to be here as a neutral party. He knew his family was dysfunctional, but _wow_.

"So you didn't actually want to be with me?" asks Dan.

"Of course I did." Serena nods fervently. "At first. I wanted it so much."

And as deeply as he wants to rail at her and hate her and blame her for every fuck-up in every one of their lives, he can't. She's so earnest in this moment that he can't help but feel some compassion towards her. He sighs heavily as he remembers the truth: it isn't Serena he hates, but the effect they have on each other.

"Yeah. I wanted it too," he admits quietly.

"And then when it wasn't... working... I just wanted it even more. So that it wouldn't all have been for nothing."

Dan breathes in the realization that after all, they were on the same page all this time. Tied to one another because of outdated hopes and dreams, clawing desperately to resuscitate something that had died long ago. His rage starts to soften, diluted by a calming sensation that they are now finally in tune, finally where they're meant to be.

Serena starts to cry again and Dan reaches for her hand. She and Scott both look at him in shock. Dan almost, almost smiles. "It wasn't for nothing," he says firmly. "We can fix this."

"You mean fix our parents, right?" Scott asks in confusion. "Not the two of you? That's like, over. Right?"

"Yes," Dan and Serena reply loudly and in unison.

Scott tips his head back in relief. "Thank God."

Dan gives him a sympathetic look and then nods firmly. "We can fix them. I know how my dad ticks. And you know your mom better than anyone."

"Maybe, but she's engaged to someone else."

He shrugs. "Things change."

"Maybe," Serena says again, tentatively.

"Not maybe. Definitely. Between us we'll figure it out."

They smile faintly at each other as Scott looks back and forth between them. "You're going to parent-trap Lily and Rufus?" he probes.

"No," Dan replies. "We all are."

Serena's smile grows as she recognizes his determination.

"Who's Lindsay Lohan then?" Scott jokes.

Dan looks pointedly at Serena. "Hey!" she protests. "I was arrested one time. ONE time, guys."

The boys eye with her amusement as Serena continues to defend herself. And anyone passing by might just think that this was an ordinary group of siblings, hanging out, drinking coffee, and laughing about their crazy family.

**TBC**

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_**A/N**__: So what do you make of my weird almost-smut in the flashback? The reason I stopped where I did isn't prudishness, just that I don't know how to write actual sex without it sounding like a biology lesson. Maybe next time..._


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: **Thank you once again for the awesome feedback and for continuing to read. I very nearly lost my mind writing this chapter, until I finally realized that I was trying to cram two chapters into one. So the good news is a) I did not lose my mind b) I've got pretty far with Chapter Seven._

_Oh and speaking of people's minds, I wanted to respond to one reviewer who asked if Dan would really still be chasing after Blair after all this time. I think my answer is that Dan is maybe not entirely compos mentis, and perhaps this comes across more clearly during this chapter. Enjoy..._

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**Outtakes**** - **Chapter Six

**2016**

Seasons pass and Chuck is overseas more and more, and the wedding is postponed until it starts to become an abstract idea, like when a little girl tries to imagine what being an adult might feel like. This situation gnaws at Blair for entirely the wrong reasons. She should be impatient to marry the man she loves, to share their happiness in front of friends and family, to start a new phase of their lives together. Instead she's restless to fulfil a long-awaited destiny, to prove without a doubt that this path she is on is the right one. But she ignores the discrepancy, choosing to focus on the essential details of this event with no date or location, such as whether to go with a croquembouche or a more traditional wedding cake.

Really, there's so much on her mind, that there's no time at all to wonder about a certain tiresome pest whose sudden flurry of communications a few months back had suddenly quietened to nothing. _One more thing that's as it's supposed to be_, she concludes.

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Dan is still on an uncharacteristic high when an e-mail he's been anticipating with equal parts impatience and terror appears in his inbox. They've set a release date for the movie. His movie. It's actually coming out. There's really good buzz, with comparisons being made to Charlie Kaufman. And if he wants to attend one of the press screenings, he only has to ask.

It's funny, because a certain kind of writer would look at this state of affairs and conclude that all is picture-perfect. He can't deny that since his time in Boston, he's had this unfamiliar sense of inner peace, that things are just as they should be. His dad and Lily are blissfully reunited and soon to be married once again. He's no longer in a suffocating, pseudo-relationship. He doesn't think about Blair very much at all, really. He wrote a movie, a movie about which one IMDB commenter was already raving: "How awesome does this look OMG OMG". _Double OMG_. That had to mean something, right? Hence a certain kind of writer would marvel at all this good fortune and would probably even shout from the rooftops "This film is MINE!". Or, at the very least, go and see the damn thing.

But Dan is not that kind of writer. He's the kind that's waiting for the cloud to swallow up all these silver linings. He's the kind that is stubborn enough to reply to the e-mail, politely declining the offer. The kind that would rather no-one ever know than face potential humiliation.

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Early on a Tuesday morning Chuck gets back from India, and immediately summons Blair for brunch. He says he's starving, that his stomach thinks it's time for dinner, and that besides he has to see her. She's in the bath when he calls. And she's having a peculiar experience - and not for the first time. Her mind is swarming with thoughts of the wedding, thoughts of ivory versus eggshell for the invitations, thoughts of whether fresh or dried petals would be less tacky for the confetti. She sinks lower and lower into the tub and she gazes into the mountain of bubbles and her thoughts spin and then suddenly... everything is still. Her mind is clear. All she can see is a single bubble, wobbling on the surface until - POP! She frowns, convinced she actually heard the bubble burst. And when it did, she could hear something else, someone else speaking to her, too quiet to make out properly. She stares at the bubbles like she's hypnotized, or maybe just stopped being hypnotized, maybe just woke up. She feels, well, she doesn't know what she feels, but she feels something.

Then her phone rings and her mind is occupied once again and she's just staring at a mass of foam.

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With his e-mails taken care of, Dan puts on his shoes. He's going to the grocery store. He doesn't have a pressing need for any groceries, but there's something he needs to do at the store. The thing is, he has more money than he knows what to do with (the advance for the next screenplay was absurdly huge) but there's not much he can do with it without giving the game away. If he buys a new apartment, disappears on exotic vacations, gets driven around everywhere in a limo, everyone will want to know how he can afford it. Besides, he doesn't need any of that, he's fine in the loft. So he finds himself in a _Brewster's Millions_ kind of a scenario, looking for anonymous ways to spend his cash. He's already given large sums to several charities and it felt great, but a selfish part of him wants to help people more creatively, more surprisingly. 'Random acts of kindness' - that's what they call them. Hence, hitting up the grocery store.

He's pretty much exhausted the stores in his own neighborhood - he wouldn't stay anonymous long if he kept visiting the same ones - so today he heads for the subway and rides the Q Train a few stops further out. As he exits the station, he bounces up the stairs, ready to do good, ready to spread happiness, ready to feed his own addiction for doing everything anonymously. And he only comes to an abrupt halt when he reaches the top stair. He holds his breath, staring straight ahead, because if he turns back it will be real. What he just saw, attached to the railings by the staircase. A big poster. A huge poster. A poster advertising a movie called _The Last Star_, with a tagline along the bottom in enormous bold lettering. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills it not to be real, wonders if it's too late to find God and pray that it's not real.

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They sit in the center of a vast, tastefully hushed dining room, full of a certain breed of people who refer to the waiters as 'boy'. Chuck has brought her a gorgeous silk scarf and after telling him that it's beautiful and that he shouldn't have, Blair finds herself lost for things to say and she lets him do all the talking. He tells her about the new deal he's been working on in Mumbai, and she smiles and nods in all the right places. She doesn't ask any questions, but then she doesn't really understand and doesn't ever expect to. _But that's ok. She's not supposed to, right?_

When Chuck stops talking momentarily to spear some omelette onto his fork, she seizes her chance.

"The wedding planner says that the boathouse is available the first Saturday in May," she declares. "I know it sounds soon but I think that we could - "

"Blair, there's something else." He stares at her, hard, fascinated, like he's never seen her before.

"Okay." She wonders if he even heard what she'd said.

He puts down his fork, clasping his hands together and leaning forward to speak straight into her eyes. "The people I'm dealing with, they're very traditional."

She frowns, wondering what this possibly has to do with the boathouse and the cake and whether the page boy's shoes should have buckles or laces.

"They expect a certain kind of decorum from their business partners," he drawls.

_Decorum? I'm the very definition of decorum. God, I don't even drink any more._

Chuck's still talking. "And if we're going to get married - "

"If?" Already her voice is sounding too loud for the subdued tones of this room.

"If we're going to get married," he repeats carefully, "there will need to be some changes."

"What kind of changes?" she asks, attempting to steady her voice.

"I need you to be there for me, to come with me on trips, to stand next to me at functions."

"Of course," she replies, suddenly calmed, flattered even that what he's asking for is more of her.

"And besides, a woman running around working in _fashion_" - he spits out the last word as if it tastes bad - "just doesn't look right. It's all frivolity, vanity. They wouldn't approve."

Blair can't quite connect the dots."I don't understand."

He pauses before delivering the fatal blow, and she's distracted by his champagne glass, by the bubbles that seem to be fizzing rather noisily, every burst audible. "Blair, I need you to give up your career."

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Denial can only last so long, and eventually Dan pulls himself together and moves falteringly down the stairs again until his face is level with the poster, his eyes narrowed so that he won't have to see it fully. He reads the damning words one by one: _Follow... my... lead_... Maybe he was over-reacting before. It's a common phrase. There's no reason why, if she were to see it, she would think it had anything to do with her or with him or with them. He allows himself a deep breath of relief and that's when he sees the words that continue underneath: _You're used to doing that_. That's not good. If she sees that, she'll definitely know. He reminds himself that it's lucky she doesn't take the subway, and his heart starts to beat again. And after one more timid look at the poster, he continues up the stairs and back on his mission.

Out on the street, he's walking more hesitantly now, hands clenched deep in his pockets. He's only travelled one block when he's stopped in his tracks again. There up above him, fixed to the side of a twelve-storey office building, is another enormous poster, this one proclaiming: _Coming Soon To Theaters. _And beneath that, in letters almost as large, the words: _It's been nice not being friends with you_.

He spins away in panic but his new position only brings a similar poster into view in the near distance, this one on a stand-alone hoarding rising above the traffic. It's smaller at least, but still very, very legible. He can picture her now, craning her neck through the window of a town-car as she takes in the words, her mouth falling open in fury, heat rising on her cheeks, her rage igniting into a ball of flames that engulfs first New York and then the Eastern Seaboard and then the whole planet until eventually they all die horrible, fiery deaths.

Now he knows there is no God.

Yes okay it was his fault, in his screenplay he had used those words, and those other ones from the subway, but they were just two phrases in the context of a sprawling, two-hour, ultra-high-concept story. He thought he could get away with it. The script was dialogue-heavy, he thought it would all just melt together. But it was different when they were used as freaking taglines. Who knew she was so damn quotable? Well, who other than him. And now it seems that half the streets in the city, possibly the nation, are adorned with Blair Waldorf quotes.

He decides to retreat before, say, a bus bearing the words _Dan Humphrey is still writing the same story and it's still lame!_ can materialize and run him over. He sprints back down to the subway, trying desperately not to look at anything around him, until he's back in the safety of the loft. He's not going anywhere ever again. No more random acts of kindness. People are just going to have to pay for their own damn groceries.

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**2012**

When he tells her he loves her, she is taken by surprise. Not by the fact of him saying it - she knew that he did and that he could and that he would - but because while it's definitely Dan's lips that are moving and producing the words, it isn't only Dan's voice that she hears. She can also hear Chuck saying it. From Chuck's reluctant mouth, hearing _I love you_ was like a victory, like surviving a violent battle against all the odds; and during the battle she had picked up quite a few wounds, some of which would never fully heal, but then what did that matter in the rapture of winning? With him she understood that _I love you_ also meant _Let's ignore the pain. _And again and again, she did.

She can also hear her father saying it. He had always said it, morning and night, and never absent-mindedly as her mother did on those rare occasions where she picked up on Blair's desperation for it. He said it firmly, proudly, made her feel safe and strong, and when he had finished doing that, he left. He still says it now, over long-distance phone calls and in pretty postcards, and now his _I love you_ means _You are perfect from afar_.

And she can also hear Serena saying it. Serena would let it tumble out so easily, like it was part of the free and easy river that was her whole being - smooth, sweet, flowing limbs and hair and promises. Until the day she left without saying goodbye, and Blair was bereft. Somehow, the loss of a best friend, that's the one that hurt the most. The one that taught her that _I love you_ could mean _Trust no-one_.

So as Dan stands in front of her, and her stomach twists in a strange hybrid of joy and dread, there is a part of her that comprehends that this is different, how he speaks so plainly and gently and fearlessly, wildly adoring all that she is without condition. A part of her that gets that all he wants is to be sure she that she knows, that she feels it, so that she can be free to do with it whatever she likes. A part of her that knows he isn't trying to prove something like the others were - not like Chuck proving that he could bend to her will, or her father proving that he was the better parent, or Serena proving that she was prepared to endure Blair's sharp, broken edges because she, Serena, was just such a good and accepting person.

But that part of her that hears him clearly is not enough, because those voices are there, and they are loud, and they roar in her ears and they drown it out. And they tell her that though she may have survived the losses they brought with them, she might not survive it this time.

So with an ache in her chest she responds casually, and pretends not to see the hurt in his face, and the chasm widens between them until it's like they live on separate continents, as they eat sushi, walk back in the very first silence ever to hang between them, and watch their last movie together.

And in bed that night she doesn't cry his name because they don't belong to each other any more and he knows, he knows, he knows... But what he doesn't know is how badly she wanted him to say it, and how close she came to really hearing it, and to seeing what he sees.

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**2016**

"I'm begging you. I'll pay for all the advertising to be replaced."

"There's no time for that, it's coming out on the 12th," insists the voice on the other end of the phone.

"There must be something that can be done." Dan paces back and forth, his free hand running back and forth through his hair.

"I think you just need to calm down. What does it matter anyway? Your name isn't on anything. It says 'Screenplay by Wade Miller.' Why would anyone think that's you?"

Dan throws his head back in frustration and wonders if he should just tell this guy the whole story; but before he can formulate the words there's a knock at the door and at the same time it flies open and a most unexpected brunette swans into the loft.

"I'll call you back," Dan says into the phone, voice heavy.

"It won't help!" he hears vaguely, before he kills the call. He turns fully towards his uninvited guest.

"Georgina."

She's already taken off her coat and shoes, and is rifling through the drawers in the kitchen.

"That's an impressive collection of chopsticks," she smirks. "A lot of tearful take-outs since Goldilocks left you?"

"Georgina."

"Oh look! Milo's airplane spoon! It's so tiny!"

"GEORGINA," he hollers, arms raised.

She looks up at him like he's the intruder. "What?"

"What are you doing here?" he ventures.

"I heard you were looking for me."

"Yeah, that was like a year ago." When he wanted help understanding Blair, fixing Blair. _Ugh. No more Blair today. Please._

"Well, here I am. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"You sounded pretty worked up just then on the phone," she says mischievously, obviously hunting for his weak spot.

"Nope, it's nothing."

"Well, that's boring." She goes back to hunting through a drawer, until she finds what she was looking for. "Not to worry, I brought wine." And she holds up a corkscrew.

He cringes. "I don't drink. You know that."

"Boring."

"It's noon."

"Blah blah." And somehow she's already opened the bottle and is pouring the dark, exquisite-looking liquid into two large glasses. "Drink," she commands.

So he does.

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"Blair, I need you to give up your career."

POP! He says the words, and at the same time she can hear one bubble after another bursting, loudly, almost deafeningly. And something else too, something she still can't quite decipher. She looks down at her engagement ring and slides it up to the knuckle, then back again.

Chuck leans forward. "Are you listening to me, Blair?"

She is, sort of. But he's not the loudest thing she can hear.

"Blair." He's almost shouting now, and she looks up at him in surprise. The thing she can hear, the thing that drowns him out, is short and sweet and she doesn't know which of them is more shocked when it comes tumbling out of her mouth, loud and clear: "No."

The thing she can hear is herself.

His fingers begin to grip the edge of the table. "No?" he repeats.

"No," she says, as if it's the answer to every question she's ever encountered.

Chuck's arms fly up and then suddenly he's up and he's out of his chair and he's embracing her. She tries to loosen his grip as he breathes, "Oh thank God, Blair. Thank God."

She slips out of his arms, fixing him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

His hands are still heavy on her shoulders and he's now sporting an ecstatic grin. "That was a test, Blair. And you passed."

"A test?"

He nods vigorously. "I made it all up. I don't think you should give up your career. I just said that because I wanted to see if the real you was still in there somewhere. If there was some spark still remaining."

"You made it up?" She shrugs his hands away from her shoulders and he tries to place them either side of her face, but again she moves her head so he can't. He barely seems to notice because he's become aware that people at neighboring tables are looking at them. He self-consciously clears his throat and sits down again.

"I want the real Blair," he pants. "The Blair with some fight in her. The Blair who won't let me get away with dismissing her career as frivolous."

She wishes he would stop saying her name. She never noticed before the way he stretches it out a little too long, like he's chewing on it.

"When you were doing all those" - he pauses - "foolish things, I wanted to help you to be you again. I don't know what I did wrong but I obviously took it too far. And you stopped being you. Everything about you was suppressed. I gave you one of the finest engagement rings ever crafted and you put it on without even looking at it. I hired out a whole movie theatre for us and you barely reacted. I bring you the most exquisite gifts every time I travel and you always say the same thing: 'It's beautiful, you shouldn't have.' "

"I'm meant to say something else?"

"You're meant to be you!" He tries to take her hand and she flinches. He refuses to see what is happening. "And now I know you're still there. That you can be the Blair I want. Need. You have to understand, I do have some self-respect."

Chuck's still talking but she can't hear him because the bubbles are popping, and echoing in her head are the words she thought she had exorcised long ago: _You went up there yourself_.

She twists the ring further, further up her finger.

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"Dan, why - "

"No. You're wrong," he slurs, gesturing at Georgina accusingly with the hand that isn't holding a glass. "I'm not Dan. I'm called Wade now. WAAAADE," he warbles, and he flexes his muscles to more adequately personify his new name. It's a little too much movement for the state he's in and he has to lean against the kitchen counter to stop himself falling off the stool.

"That's just what Blair said!" Georgina enthuses.

He sits up straighter. "You saw Blair?"

"No," she admits. "Not recently. I meant, when she came crawling to me wanting to be Naughty Blair. She said 'Being Blair is boring' and I..."

Georgina babbles on but Dan's stopped listening because she just said _Naughty Blair_ and those words make him feel kind of warm and distracted, and remind him of these dreams he has sometimes. More than sometimes. Dreams that stomped into his life one day, long ago, and never went away again.

"I don't want to talk about her," he mumbles, and clumsily pours himself another glass of wine.

She kicks his leg. "Oh you cannot still be hung up on her?"

"Am not. Also, ouch." He's knocking back the wine, eyeing it at the same time, and then suddenly he slams down the glass. "Do you know how long we were together?" he cries. "We were together, like, this long." And to demonstrate he takes a tiny sip of his drink and then turns back to her. "That long! That's all!"

Georgina starts to laugh.

"And then how long we haven't been together? It's like this." And he tilts his head back and downs the whole drink, and then when he's done he picks up Georgina's drink and does the same. She's in absolute hysterics now and because she hasn't said anything, he thinks he hasn't made his point properly. "A really fucking long time! Forever! We haven't been together in forever!" And he starts glugging from the bottle to adequately represent forever.

Georgina wipes at her eyes. "So if you're not hung up on her, then why don't you wanna be Dan any more?" she teases. She tries to put her hands on his lap, but momentum spins her back towards the counter again.

"Being Dan is boring. I'm Wade," he says, as if he's teaching her that two and two makes four.

Georgina groans. "I'll tell you what's boring. Your brain. How incredibly obvious it is." She points at him. "You don't wanna be Dan because Dan is in love with Blair and you want to make that go away."

He's stunned into silence by her bluntness. He takes another swig.

"I said the same thing to her," she continues.

Dan almost chokes, spilling much of his wine. "You said that to her?

She stands up, stretching her arms above her head in a giant yawn. "Of course. Being Blair Waldorf means loving Dan Humphrey. Weirdly. So she had to be someone else. Like, maybe Blair Bass. Who wouldn't be burdened with that problem. That's what I told her." She crosses over to the couch and drapes herself over it dramatically.

Dan follows her and then pauses, because even if he could manoeuvre himself onto the couch, he wouldn't want to, not with her - because it's sort of a sacred spot (though he'd never say that out loud). So instead he sprawls at her feet, eyes wide. "And what did she say?"

Georgina's head lolls. "She slapped me. Actually, it was kind of hot. For a second I almost got why you're so into her."

"I'm not into her," he scoffs.

"Uh huh."

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Chuck is paying the check hurriedly, eager to turn his attention back to her, and he's rattled in a way she's never seen before. He tries to hide it behind bluster. "Come on, Blair. Let's just forget about it." He sounds sort of unhinged now. "You're you again. We should be celebrating."

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "You could have just talked to me," she says quietly, firmly. "You didn't have to make it a game."

"Are you listening to me, Blair?"

"Yes." And it's true, she really is.

"I love you," he snarls, emphasising the 'I' as if he's bestowing a great honor. "I thought that was enough?"

She looks down at her ring and clears her throat, searching for a way to make him understand. "Maybe you do. It's not for me to say."

"What do you mean?" he snaps.

It's so clear to her now that she can't believe there was a time when it wasn't. "I can't be sure of the meaning behind everything anyone ever says to me. I can try to guess, I can twist myself into knots over it, but I can't be sure." She leans forward and cups her head in her hand, and she sees hope flicker in his eyes. "But you know what I can be sure of?"

He shakes his head dazedly.

"Actions. What people do to me. And the thing is, Chuck, the way you just acted? It was disgusting."

"I was trying to save you!" he hisses, as a woman at the next table glares at him over her pince-nez.

She nods. "And you know what? You did."

He splutters, trying to interrupt her but she places her hand over his mouth to stop him. "It's just words," she says with a small smile.

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"She's just someone I know, or used to know, you know." Dan is now lying flat out on the floor.

"Are we really still talking about her?" whines Georgina, currently face-down on the couch.

He ignores her. "I just see her around. I invited her to go see a movie not that long ago."

She sits up eagerly. "Did you sit in the back? Please describe."

"Well we didn't actually go," he says, in a way that's meant to sound indifferent. Georgina slumps back again in disappointment. "I mean, she's really busy. You know. Whatever. It was nothing. Not a thing. I'm breezy."

"Acceptance," she nods sagely.

He lifts his head slightly. "Heh?"

"Don't you listen to me?" She tries to kick him again but he's too far away and she only succeeds in knocking over the current wine bottle. "I told you at that party what you two are doing. You're grieving for each other. And the stages of grief, according to my psych professor..."

"Georgina, you went to college for like an hour."

"No, silly," she says. "The psych professor I was banging when I was 17."

"Oh." _Of course_.

She's getting into it now. "Anyway, so you did denial, duh, that was blondie and it was a looooong one. Then anger, yep, that's where I left you at that party. Depression, hmm, let's see, how did you feel when you found out she was engaged to Chuck?"

"Ugggghhhhh." He lets his head bang against the floor.

"I knew it!" she exclaims joyfully.

"That was bad. Baaaaad timing." As he speaks, Georgina crawls excitedly off the couch to get a better look at his distress. "I had just decided I could help her, stop her destroying herself, I didn't even want anything in return, if she could just be okay again - "

"A-ha! That was another stage! Bargaining!" And she smacks him on the chest.

"Ow! Stop!" he shouts, as she starts shaking with laughter again. Somehow, as she convulses, she manages to sputter out an explanation. "You're... you're a textbook..." She grips her stomach in pain. "You have the most... basic... emotional functions in the... the whole entire world."

Slowly he's managing to sit up. "So what's the last stage?"

She stops laughing at last and rolls her eyes. "I told you, acceptance."

"Acceptance?"

He dodges her hand as she tries to pat his head. "Acceptance was you saying 'Yeah she's just some girl I know, we'll go to the movies, oh what's that she's too busy marrying the biggest bastard in New York? Oh okay, whatevs, it's all good, I'll just be over here not drinking, not crying, not killing myself.' "

"Acceptance..." He mulls it over. "So it's over?"

"Beats me," she mumbles over her shoulder. She's bored and is trying to get the last dregs out of the bottle.

"Well what would the psych professor say?"

"Dunno." Her faces lights up. "After him I moved on to this really cute DJ."

"Oh." He doesn't know what would leave him emptier - being over her or not being over her. "Well, I guess it's over," he says uneasily. Georgina's not listening. He recalls the earlier events of the day and moves towards her conspiratorially. "But the thing is," he whispers noisily, "I made a movie. Out of my head. And now she's going to kill us all."

She turns to look at him. "Life isn't a movie, you silly."

He nods insistently. "No it's a really real movie. In space!"

"Oh you poor baby." She strokes his collar. "You're so cute."

"No but we're all gonna die," he pleads, wriggling away from her fingers.

"We'll be fine. Or not. I don't know." Her voice is sort of suggestive, like she sees the apocalypse as something of a turn-on.

As she reaches for him again, he looks deep into her eyes. "You're so wise. You're a wise, wise witch."

"Let's make out," she whispers.

He replies with passion. "No."

"I'll be gentle," she simpers.

"I don't wanna." And he swivels away and lies back down on his side, covering his face with his arms to prevent her from molesting him, as he pretends to sleep and then actually does sleep. She sighs in frustration and works at lifting up his shirt so she can at the very least get a look at his abs.

ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ

"We're Chuck and Blair," he's insisting with a desperate smile, and that makes her laugh a little, but not in the way he wants. He watches her spin the ring back and forth on her finger and his nostrils flare. "Why can't you hear me?"

She looks up again. "I heard it all."

"So what's the problem? Everything's okay." He's utterly bewildered. "Don't you see, you're not broken?"

"You're right," she says, as she twists at her ring for the final time, until - oops - she's twisting it clean off her finger and placing it in front of him on the table. "I'm really not." Finally, too late - years too late - she thinks he might get it. And for once, he doesn't know what to say. She stands up, lifting her bag on to her arm. "Goodbye, Chuck," she says gently.

He looks back at her not with sadness, not with anger, but with sheer surprise. "You can't do this," he says.

"I just did." And as she walks away, past the snooty onlookers who avert their heads and pretend not to have been hanging on every word of this juicy soap opera, she looks back over her shoulder to add one more thing: "Thank you."

"Blair," he calls after her ominously. "You're mine."

She hears it, but in the scheme of things it's awfully quiet.

The doorman swings open the door for her and she glides onto the street, oblivious to everything around her, to people and cars and bicycles, to speeding taxis and looming buildings bearing eye-catching advertisements. Because all she can hear is her own voice, and it's telling her that she's Blair Waldorf and that she's awesome.

ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ


End file.
